CSI: Miami, Mutual Valor
by Neteret
Summary: Sometimes, the rescuer becomes the rescued. Horatio finds a new love, the team finds a new meaning to horrible crime.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimers**: All characters from CSI: Miami are property of CBS. I own nothing connected with CBS or with CSI: Miami, I don't know anyone connected with CBS or with the show. I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

**Title**: Mutual Valor

**Pairing**: Horatio Caine/OC

**Rating**: NC 17 I know, 'M' is an accepted rating, but this is just in case you don't know, this is what 'M' means. This is not only for sexual content, but also for violence and references to sexual child abuse well.

**Spoilers**: There are references to previous episodes through fourth season.

**Challenge**: For you true experts on all CSI: Miami, the J's I use for story breaks, and the Sorority House, are references to one episode in particular. It will be up to you to figure out which episode and why I used the lines of J's.

**Comments**: Both negative and positive comments are always appreciated. I learn from the negative and enjoy the positive.

**Thank you:** Many thanks to my betas, Elena and Tonie. If not for you, this would have been a mess! I am truly grateful for your efforts.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary:** Story: Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued.

Chapter 1: Horatio Caine has had a very bad day. His neighbor comes to help.

Chapter 1:

Horatio Caine stumbled through his front door and slammed it behind him. He walked blindly ahead, heedlessly tossing his keys in the general direction of the kitchen counter, and continued through the sparsely decorated living room to the sliding glass patio door. As if resentful of the barrier, he shoved the door open with a force that threatened to remove it from its track, and blundered obliviously onto the large balcony and, if not for the low wall at the end, he might well have walked straight off the fourth floor. Unable to continue his preoccupied journey, he stood, mindlessly, rhythmically bludgeoning the palm of one hand against the six-inch metal guardrail at his chest, while the other gripped at the metal tightly enough to peel off the coat of white paint, as he fought and failed, against unseen forces. His unseeing eyes, directed somewhere above the late afternoon horizon, flickered back and forth, as if at passing landscapes. Each breath he took was a deep, gulping gasp, and each exhale was complete, as if to expel some horrifying murk dwelling deep within.

At first, he hadn't even heard her inquiries—not because of the quiet shushurring of the ocean waves on the beach below—but rather because of the thundering in his brain. He barely felt the touch of her hand, still on his shoulder. Her tone of voice, when he finally heard it, indicated she had already repeated his name several times. "Horatio? What is it? Horatio? Talk to me, please!"

His mind's flight unhindered, he turned and, looked down to his neighbor's pale, oval face, full of alarmed concern. Manuela de la Rojas, Mannie to most of her friends, had apparently come through the gate that separated their patios. '_What,_' he wondered briefly, '_was she doing here? Why was she here?_' He could hardly even see her through the haze of the visions that were overwhelming him.

Oh! How he would have liked to pull himself out of this ghastly state of mind, to switch gears, to be able to lightly say, "Oh, just a little distracted, I guess," but there was just no way to do that, not right now. Though able to stop pounding the rail, he was now gripping it as tightly as with his other hand. Looking back to the ocean, he felt compelled to just let it out, to spew it just as it had happened, hoping, by doing so, to get rid of it.

"Bad day, Manuela, I've had," his voice shook breathlessly, "a really bad day."

Since they'd met, just four months ago, she had never seen him like this. Horatio's voice, commonly a captivating sixty cycle hum, a calm purr that was always warm and smooth, was now erratic, almost quavering, with a nervous patter that reminded her of the sound of a machine gun. She recognized the sight of a man at the breaking point.

Her head barely came to the top of his shoulder, so she had to lean into the rail to look up into his face. "Yes?" she inquired, hoping to learn more.

"I lost a kid this morning. That kidnap victim." Once he started, he couldn't stop. "We got a lead on the kidnapper and when we got there…" The vision of what he had witnessed played out again across his memory. "He had the boy on the bed and he was strangling him while he was…" He again saw that vermin, pants down to his knees, sprawled over the boy, holding a bunched-up rag over his face.

"He went for a gun and I had a clear shot." The thunder from the gun was bright and world filling, stopping time, but not for long enough. The mind numbing explosion from the muzzle, useful only in that it propelled a missile bent on traveling as far as possible, no matter what the obstacle, did its job, but too late.

"He went down and I went to help the boy…" He remembered the macabre sound of the boy's struggles to pull air into his lungs through a crushed larynx, the look of the child in his arms, the terrified expression, the contortion of his eleven-year-old features, the spasms of the small body in his arms. The brain, too long deprived of oxygen, was already shutting down. "It was too late. We—I was too late!" Horatio's face was a portrait of the shock, grief, and anger he couldn't seem to fully express.

No words were strong enough to express Manuela's dismay at what she was hearing. Weakly she answered, "Oh, no! Oh, Horatio, how awful for you!"

Agony, which had laid its cold cloak on his face, drawing his, lips back into a grimace, entered his voice, and tore at his words. "No, Manuela, awful for the child. His last seconds on earth were looking into the face of the man who failed him."

Seizing the boy's head, he had tried to force air into the bleeding mouth, heedless of the awkward position. He had called out to the child, begged him to not give up, pleaded with him to try to take just one more breath, told him he'd make it all better, that no one would ever hurt him again. He'd held the naked child on his lap and had put one hand under his back, the other on his chest, had pumped, and squeezed, knowing it was all wrong, knowing the young brain was fading, knowing it was hopeless, unable to stop himself. "He died! A child died! I couldn't stop him from dying because I didn't get there in time! He died looking at me, knowing the truth! I tried to save him!" Horatio sounded as if he were pleading for it not to be true.

Those last few minutes of that disastrous rescue effort were running through his head over and over in an endlessly looped replay—crashing through the door, sighting the man over his gun, seeing him freeze an instant before reaching for a pistol on the night stand, shouting, "No! No!" firing, everyone shouting and running around him while he went to check for a pulse he had known wouldn't exist, turning immediately to see the quivering boy on the bed, the look on the child's face, the look! –and then it would start again.

Horatio's eyes hunted the corners of the patio as if seeking aid. "We drove there as fast as we could. There were two flights of stairs. If only we had been able to arrive five minutes earlier, just five minutes… I tried so hard… I killed a man to save an innocent child, who still suffered and died! I tried… I tried…" His voice faded while his eyes flicked about, reading the images only he could see. The feeling of hopelessness overtaking him, he turned and leaned again into the railing to use the horizon as a backdrop for his nightmares.

He couldn't remember much of those next few hours, knew the paramedics and a police officer must have scuffled with him to take the child out of his grasp, had held him back while they had done everything in their power to revive him. Then, when he'd followed them all downstairs, hoping yet to help, one of the EMT's had lost patience and told him roughly to 'Get out of here, go sit!' and pointed to a radio car.

He didn't really remember going upstairs again, partly in an effort to do his job as a criminalist, mostly to make sure the animal he'd dispatched wasn't getting up, was dead. He did not recall that, when he'd entered the room, how the recent events hit him with such power that he'd been backed against the wall, pinned like an insect on display, unable to move.

Of course, the brass had been informed immediately—primarily about his behavior—and they'd sent someone from the Internal Affairs Bureau, as protocol demanded. He had been relieved of his weapon, duly informed of the usual temporary suspension of duty, and told to go home and 'rest.' He didn't remember walking down the stairs, didn't remember getting into the Hummer, nor remember how he had gotten home.

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Manuela, off work unusually early that day, had heard the peculiar noise coming from outside, an odd, flat sort of thrumming, nothing like the usual clamor from the beach below. Her curiosity piqued, she first paused at the patio door trying to identify the sound and its direction, even looking to the sky. Finally, she'd gone outside to the edge of her small balcony, peering over, then between the thick pipes that served as guardrails supported by the balusters of concrete, but saw nothing unusual. Only when she looked to the right had she realized the noise was coming from her neighbor, who was slapping at the pipes so hard it was causing them to reverberate.

She'd called out to him, thinking maybe she'd tease him about the odd music he was making but, getting no reaction, she had figured the usual din of the outside world was drowning her lightweight voice. Only when she had moved closer did she catch the haunted expression on his face.

Part of the reason her life had taken its course was that Manuela was innately programmed to respond to distress. She'd been like that as a child and, in spite of everything, had not changed. Though she still had some qualms about even visiting this handsome neighbor of hers, she didn't think twice this time about opening the gate between the two patios.

In the five months since moving here, Manuela had never seen this man out on his patio other than in casual dress, usually leaning against the rail, gazing out at the ocean, or relaxing in one of the matched pair of chaise lounges. Now, he was still in the dress shirt and black suit he always wore for work, and most noticeably, he was standing as electrically erect, agonizingly stiff as a robot. Those were her first clues that something was terribly wrong here.

Now, having listened to the pain in his broken voice, she knew that he was in serious, desperate trouble, and needed help out of this downward spiral, or he, perhaps, might never recover. She also knew that she could help, but the problem was she would only be able to do it one way, and first, she would have to put aside her long resolve that she would never do such a thing again.

From leaning forward, looking into his face, she stood back, trying to come to a decision. She reminded herself it would be okay, that, this time, she was doing this of her own volition; that he was in desperate need, so she took a deep breath and whispered, "Horatio," and as she'd expected, received no reaction. He continued to stare, without seeing, out to the horizon. She leaned forward and put her lips to the back of his left hand, pulling gently at his wrist to release his fierce grip. The act of kissing so surprised him, she easily pulled his hand away from the bar, and slipped under his arm to stand in front of him. "Horatio, my friend," she whispered as she looked up into his grief-stricken face, "I'm here. I am here for you and I am going to help you."

The CSI Lieutenant looked down, and was so helplessly caught up into the hazel brown depths of Manuela's eyes, that he barely felt her small hands reach up to the back of his head to pull him down to her lips. Oddly, the kiss was not sexually inviting, but was wonderfully reassuring, comforting. He pulled back to look again into those eyes, finding the same reassurance. Where before, the visions of the day had been horror movies on replay, now Manuela was standing in the forefront of the whole mess, obscuring it all. He had no idea what was going on, didn't care, was just glad she was there.

Having only an inkling of the process in Horatio's mind, but not releasing his gaze, Manuela casually reached over to release his right hand from the rail, using it as a lever to pull him around, and then drawing it across her shoulder. "Come, my friend, come with me, okay?" Speaking quietly, unconsciously using the old formal terms she'd been taught so long ago, she put her arm around his waist and, as if supporting him, led him inside to the bedroom.

He could never quite recall how it happened—he thought he remembered that she kept murmuring little reassuring phrases, words of gentle encouragement such as, "Just put this here, like so," and "now we'll remove this," and, "ah, good, see, you will be more comfortable this way,"—and then he was in bed, naked, and so was she.

Nor did he recall how she had held him gently, his head resting on her shoulder, patting him, kissing his hair and quietly whispering, "Now rest, my dear friend. Maybe tomorrow won't be so hard. I believe in you. You are a good man. Today was so awful for you. Rest, now." Nor did the recesses of his mind ever contain how, in the lowering darkness, in the quiet peace of his bed, Manuela's voice soothing him, one of his large hands laying gently on the softness of her hip, his mind began to shut down and finally, slept.

Years ago, in those disturbing days, Manuela had been forced to do this many times, but unfortunately, those sessions hadn't been quite as easy; much more had been demanded of her. Still, they had all ended in the same way, the man falling asleep so deeply, so completely, that she knew without a doubt, he would not wake until morning.

Thus, when she heard that first, deep sigh, felt his head go heavier on her shoulder, indicating Horatio was asleep, she didn't hesitate to twist herself gently from under the weight, something she would not have dared to do back then. Just to be sure, she watched him carefully as she quickly dressed, turned out the light and left, leaving the bedroom door slightly ajar.

Breathing a huge sigh of relief, she stood a moment in the living room, very aware she was trembling. She'd done it and was glad, but now her ghosts were awakened, and were stirring up some very cold memories. Why, she berated herself, had she undressed, too? Why had she taken that risk? She'd had to do it before, but certainly did not have to this time! Perhaps, she reasoned with herself, it had been because she was unsure of how far she'd have to go before she could stop the deterioration of Horatio's mind. She'd relied on her experience and her understanding of what was going on with him and had only prepared for the extreme, just in case, and, fortunately, she hadn't had to take it that far. Well, no use second-guessing herself, now that it was over.

She considered staying by her 'charge,' and sleeping on the couch, which glimmered in the light of the third quarter moon from the open patio door, then chided herself for wanting to take care of an adult male who was very much asleep. She shook herself and strode out to the gate to her own place. She wasn't going to get much sleep anywhere, so she might as well be comfortable in familiar, safe, territory.

A few hours later she was back, sitting on his couch, watching the sunrise, planning her next steps in helping her neighbor. Looking in on him and being reassured by the heavy snoring, she sat down in the corner of the couch to think. She had created that break he'd needed between those awful visions and him and had gotten him to sleep, and that was step one. Next, avoiding his innate responses to last night would be a hurdle, but she could handle that, she hoped. After that, well, the next steps would, she hoped, be easier.

Waiting for him to wake, she began to consider what might have precipitated this near disaster for him: from previous conversations, she'd sensed that, for some time now, he'd been on the edge of some sort of an emotional break. He'd worriedly referred to the constant pressure from superiors at the Lab to take on more cases, to find the solutions faster or to suffer reprimands, which, apparently for him, was as unforgivable as personal failure.

On top of that, she learned that he was driven hard by severe internal mandates; one seemed to command he help wherever there was need, to give of himself beyond reason; another, that he track down all criminals at any cost to himself, unquestionably prove their guilt, and be satisfied only when they were locked away. To meet these dictums he apparently worked every hour of every day, seldom taking even one day off.

Though she had admired him for his strength, she wondered how it was possible to give and give without a toll, and even remarked about it on one occasion, but had gotten silence and a distant look in return. She had finally concluded that these revelations were very unusual for the man who seemed so private, so self-contained, so strong, but were signs of cracks in his usually protective covering. Finally, those burdens, and now this gruesome tragedy, had combined into an emotional ax, hacking at his core, threatening to shred his sanity.

Then she went on to wonder how and where she had found the strength to do what she had just done. Years ago, one of her therapists had recommended taking psychology courses so that she could give names to what she had been forced to do, so long ago. "You'll gain new perspective about that part of your life, for sure, and besides, if you can identify a monster, it becomes more familiar and less fearsome." And the advice had proven to be sound; the classes she'd taken had made her past seem almost interesting, had made some of the ugliness she'd been through seem more like some sort of an accomplishment, and, while still not okay, at least easier to live with. She'd put names to the evils, made peace with them and put them, more or less, to rest.

Now, of course, she was going to have to deal with those evil spirits, find some way to bury them again. Taking a deep breath, accepting her actions as her own, she started to work.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimers**: All characters from CSI: Miami are property of CBS. I own nothing connected with CBS or with CSI: Miami, I don't know anyone connected with CBS or with the show. I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

**Title**: Mutual Valor

**Pairing**: Horatio Caine/OC

**Rating**: NC 17 I know, 'M' is an accepted rating, but this is just in case you don't know, this is what 'M' means. This is not only for sexual content, but also for violence and references to sexual child abuse well.

**Spoilers**: There are references to previous episodes through fourth season.

**Challenge**: For you true experts on all CSI: Miami, the J's I use for story breaks, and the Sorority House, are references to one episode in particular. It will be up to you to figure out which episode and why I used the lines of J's.

**Comments**: Both negative and positive comments are always appreciated. I learn from the negative and enjoy the positive.

**Thank you:** Many thanks to my betas, Elena and Tonie. If not for you, this would have been a mess! I am truly grateful for your efforts.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary:** Story: Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued.

**Chapter 2:** The day after Horatio's bad day.

Chapter 2:

For fourteen hours, Horatio slept deeply and dreamlessly, rousing only because a thin shaft of light from a crack high in the curtains crept brightly across his eyes. Waking alone felt odd, somehow, but he couldn't imagine why until some memory of the day before came to him slowly, unevenly, in unwanted bits and pieces. He had a dim recollection that something awful had gone down, but the rest was hazy. Wait! Manuela, from next door! She had been here! Good Lord! Had she put him to bed? Had she been here in bed with him?

Before those thoughts were fully formed, he saw a shadow pass by the half-closed bedroom door and heard a sound coming from the living room. Realizing someone was out there, sure it was Manuela, he sluggishly grabbed clothes and tried to make himself presentable, feeling like he was hurrying through molasses.

Manuela, peering into the open refrigerator, looked down to the floor to see bare feet sticking out of a pair of light brown drawstring slacks. Stiffening, trying not to be fearful of what might happen next, she reached inside for the glass of orange juice she'd already poured, but as she straightened up quickly, she almost slammed the 'fridge door. '_Don't grab for me! Don't!_'

"Ah, you're awake." Attempting to sound morning bright, she hurriedly sidestepped his rising hand, leaving him standing, blankly staring at her. She set the glass down on the dining counter and started peeling the banana, which she had ready on the plate, then cut it into four chunks, deftly using a table knife. Done, she picked up the plate and the glass and, moving as promptly as she dared past Horatio, into the living room to the white leather couch. Before securely cradling herself into the cushioned corner, she set the food on the large glass coffee table in front. She tried not to sigh in relief at having reached her goal, untouched, unharmed.

"Come, sit," she offered, patting the area beside her. "I'm betting you don't usually have breakfast, but this time I insist that you do. The juice is for the iron, the energy, and vitamin C, and a banana is for more energy plus the potassium and niacin, which will replenish your nervous system. You had an awful shock, yesterday, you know."

His mind slow, Horatio, found himself having to figure out what she meant before he could get himself to move. The world somehow seemed topsy-turvy, and not understanding how or why, he focused, for the time being, on his neighbor.

"Come," Manuela repeated, softening her voice from the commanding-mother tone she'd been using. "You need this." Gesturing with her hand, as a hostess might do for a guest; she indicated the path around the couch and pointed to the cushion beside her.

Smiling faintly, he shuffled to the couch and plopped down where she'd indicated. This was a new experience for him, this confusion, and slowness, and he wondered vaguely if he had suffered a stroke. The food suddenly looked good, so he took the juice first, draining the glass before he picked up the plate. Leaning back, taking a bite of the banana, he realized he probably hadn't eaten anything at all the day before.

Manuela, turning her back against the broad armrest so she could face her patient, pulled her legs up in front of her and tried to sound cheerfully conversational. "I called the Lab to let them know you weren't coming in today. They said you'd been told not to, anyway."

"Procedure, temporary relief of duty when an officer has shot someone," he mumbled around a mouthful of banana. "I'm not supposed to go in until Monday." His voice sounded dull and flat in his ears. While he stared out the open patio door at the hazy, blue Miami sky, he knew something was trying to come to his mind, but he couldn't quite figure out what it was.

"Yes, Calleigh told me. She also said to tell you not to even think of showing up today, to just stay home and rest. She also said tomorrow, she knew, would be another matter, whatever that meant." She was relieved to see a slight curling of Horatio's lips, knowing anything resembling an emotional reaction, no matter how slight, was a good thing—step two.

She leaned forward, took the empty dish from his hand and placed it on the table before them—intake of food was step three, and so far so good. Turning, drawing her legs up under her, and leaning towards the listless redhead who sat with his hands in his lap, she draped a hand casually over his shoulder. "You're still tired, I bet."

The thick auburn eyebrows knit over his nose and then shot into a scowl; he nodded his head, staring at his strangely inactive hands. "Tired isn't exactly the word for it," he confessed with an explosive sigh.

"I can't imagine anything more terrible than what happened yesterday. What was the boy's name?" She knew she was entering dangerous territory here but she had to start him talking about it. As she expected, he paused for the briefest moment before answering.

"Martin—Marty—Laine. He was the one snatched two days ago from Mira Loma Park." '_Yesterday! Oh, God! Yesterday!_'

"And didn't you mention to me, last week, you thought you knew who the kidnapper was, that Junior Soccer League coach?"

"Yeah!" His chin sank into his chest as he began to recall events of the previous day. Today they seemed far removed, like scenes from an old movie.

Manuela shifted again, put her legs down and pushed herself back into the corner, and reached over to pull on Horatio's arm. "Here. I want to hear more, but you're still tired. Relax a bit while you tell me about it."

It was so easy to give in, to lay his head on her soft lap, and pull his feet up. Lying on his side, he stared at the brightness outside while he felt the gentle petting on his hair, the stroking of her fingers on his arm.

She decided to ask the hardest question first. "If you thought you knew who it was before, why didn't you just go get him?"

"We tried, but he'd moved. We had no idea where he was until one of Frank's street informants came in with the tip about where he was yesterday morning."

"And you were out after him like a bat out of hell."

"Five minutes too late."

A pause, then a soft, distant, "True." Another pause, "You did all that you could."

"It wasn't—" he sighed, "—it wasn't enough."

"And in your job, as in mine, too often, it's never enough. You tried with everything you had, as you always do; you didn't miss a beat, didn't take a misstep, your team didn't miss any clues."

Her comments were answered with silence so Manuela decided to change the subject, before his visions came back full force. "Calleigh said everyone at the lab is concerned about you. They send their best and she asked me to tell you, not to worry."

"I'll be going in tomorrow."

"I think she knew that. She also said she'd have your weapon processed by the time you came in."

"Hmm."

The tips of her fingers strayed to his temple, circling slowly as her other hand continued to stroke his hair. She desperately wished he would just go to sleep, not think. Remembering and talking about it was one thing, but if he started to relive yesterday again, she might have to… no, she couldn't even think about that. She wasn't even sure she could go that far, not anymore. A wild thought occurred to her. 'What if—what if he wouldn't even allow her to come that close? What then?' She pondered the idea.

Moments later, a soft sigh from the now-quiet man told her that her wish had been granted, sleep was once more enveloping him. Following suit, she laid her head against the back of the couch and allowed herself to join him.

Two hours later, she was awakened when she felt his head rise from her lap.

Sitting up beside her, rubbing his face, he looked over and raised his hands enough to say, "Hey," and continued to lift them high above his head in a stretch as he yawned.

She blinked and smiled. "Back at you."

"Wow! I don't think I have ever slept so much in my life." He leaned back, looking up at the ceiling and then over at her with a smile. Then his expression changed ever so slightly, telling her he was remembering the events of the last evening.

When she saw his hand start to move toward her, she jumped up. "I must have needed it too, but I feel great, now."

"And, you know what?" he returned, "I'm hungry."

"Me too! I'm starving!" She snapped her fingers. "I have an idea! I'm going to run downstairs and grab some hotdogs from the vendor. By the time I come back you'll be done with your shower."

"Shower?" He looked as innocent as he could, though he suddenly realized he hadn't showered since early the day before.

"Uh-huh," she nodded, trying to smile apologetically and wrinkled her nose. "You could use a shower. What do you like on your hotdogs?"

"Um," he looked around for the right words. "Mustard, relish, peppers on the side."

"Sides of fried zucchini?"

"Share one?"

"You got it! Hurry, because I'm fast."

Congratulating herself for thinking of the shower idea, Manuela punched the mezzanine button on the elevator. Not only would showering keep him occupied while she fetched lunch, but would lend improvement on his current outlook on life, or as the old joke went: "It's not clean mind, clean body, pick one 'or' the other."

Little more than hour later, they were picking up the wrappers from the patio. They'd spent the time eating and commenting on the view of the beach, what the tourists were wearing—or not wearing—and when another hurricane might strike Miami, among other things. Barely being able to finish her own hotdog, Manuela had noted that Horatio hadn't even paused at downing his second dog, nor did he have to be encouraged to finish three-quarters of the zucchini. Appetite was a very good sign; step four.

Now she wanted get to the final step, diversion and relaxation, but the problem was, she didn't really know him well enough to know what he found entertaining, what he liked to do for fun. She had seen him go jogging at times, but that was all. Nothing coming to her immediately, she strolled over to the end of the balcony and leaned out, looking right and left, in search of an idea. Hearing some music in the distance, she realized that Miami was solving the dilemma for her. Somewhere, in one of the many nearby parks, there was some sort of fair or perhaps a festival. There would be booths selling trinkets, distractions of all sorts, and at least one dance floor.

She had no trouble feigning excitement at the sound of the music. "Oh, Horatio! Listen—a fair! I'm getting my shoes. Oh, please come! Say you'll come." She was not surprised her plea worked; he had no reason to say no.

She was pleased to find that Horatio was a fine dancer who moved well to the Salsa beat of the small band and was confident in the few slow dances they played. Between music sets, they wandered the booths, laughed at a bad magician's efforts, and enjoyed a bit of barbequed goat with some fair cerveza. In the food tent, they were entertained by a boy who, using two sticks to set a rhythm, sang in a plaintively clear voice. When he was finished, to Manuela's fascination, Horatio not only tipped him, but even complimented him in a few words of Spanish.

On the way home, he was telling a tale of how, as a teenager in New York, he had once tried singing in public and how the reaction had forced him to run for his life, when they were suddenly drenched in the one of the inevitable mini-showers of the land. Neither, however, headed for cover, but they both stood in the downpour, arms outstretched, with upturned faces, enjoying the refreshing change in weather, and each privately took notice of what the other was doing.

Later, in the hallway, when Horatio discovered he had forgotten his keys, having left through her apartment, Manuela mentally kicked herself. It would have been so much easier to end the night in the hallway, to just finish this pleasant evening with a quick good night as she shut her door. _'Damn'_!

Silently she escorted him through her living room and out onto the patio where, if he would have let her thank him for taking her to the fair and just gone through the gate, it would have been so simple, but no, he just had to be the way he was, sweet, thoughtful, and caring.

After her polite thank you, taking it as an invitation, he attempted to take her in his arms, saying, "Manuela, last night... "

Stepping back, away from his hands, she tried to smile, putting her hand up to stop him. "Last night, nothing."

He reached out again and she dodged, almost standing behind the gate now. '_Damn it! Why did men have to make things so complicated?_' "Horatio, last night? De nada, nothing. You needed a friend and I was there for you. It needn't, won't, go any further. We're neighbors, friends, and one of these days, we'll be working together. Period. That's all."

He stepped forward, reached for her yet again, a tender look on his gentle features. "I–"

Manuela panicked. She'd tried to remain calm but she couldn't help it. She reminded herself that she was in control of her life, of her body, knew he would never try to take that away from her but… "No!"

Suddenly, she was pushing at the six-foot figure, shoving him through the gate, forcefully closing it as she grabbed the hasp and drew it over the loop, then, yanked at the padlock which had been hooked over the slats, and slammed it home, squeezing it shut. She imagined Horatio was standing on the other side of the latticework, amazed, and probably confused by her behavior, as any ordinary man would surely be. Her nature told her to go back to him, to explain, but her past experience said that she wouldn't be able to stand getting so close to that fear—not now.

Horatio heard ragged gasping over the sounds of the gate being locked, then a brief pause of hesitation, footsteps, and the sound of her patio door being closed, and finally the clunk of the lock. Moments later, he heard what she probably thought he couldn't hear, tearful sobbing from her open bedroom window, the sharp sounds of her pain carrying over the softer sound of the waves.

What his neighbor did not yet know about Horatio Caine was that he was no ordinary man. True he had wanted to take her in his arms, to kiss her and, true, he was amazed at her reaction, but he was not confused. She'd forgotten his penchant for collecting evidence, dissecting it, putting it into perspective, and not making any judgments about anything until he was sure he had all of the available information. All he knew right now was that he had tried to kiss her and she had become upset. He was not confused in the least, but his innate inquisitiveness was aroused.

After about five minutes, the quiet weeping ceased and, with no further reason to stand staring at the locked gate, he turned and went inside. Amazingly, he was suddenly conscious that he was sleepy—not the sick-tiredness he'd experienced that morning—but a good, worn out feeling, in spite of almost sixteen hours of sleep, so instead of relaxing on the couch as he'd planned, he headed for bed where, half an hour later, he drew the sheet up to his bare chest, made sure the alarm was set, and turned out the light.

He tried to think about what had happened at the end of the evening, but before he could analyze what had been said that might enlighten him as to why Manuela had reacted as she did, he drifted off.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimers**: All characters from CSI: Miami are property of CBS. I own nothing connected with CBS or with CSI: Miami, I don't know anyone connected with CBS or with the show. I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

**Title**: Mutual Valor

**Pairing**: Horatio Caine/OC

**Rating**: NC 17 I know, 'M' is an accepted rating, but this is just in case you don't know, this is what 'M' means. This is not only for sexual content, but also for violence and references to sexual child abuse well.

**Spoilers**: There are references to previous episodes through fourth season.

**Challenge**: For you true experts on all CSI: Miami, the J's I use for story breaks, and the Sorority House, are references to one episode in particular. It will be up to you to figure out which episode and why I used the lines of J's.

**Comments**: Both negative and positive comments are always appreciated. I learn from the negative and enjoy the positive.

**Thank you:** Many thanks to my betas, Elena and Tonie. If not for you, this would have been a mess! I am truly grateful for your efforts.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary:** Story: Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued.

Chapter 3: How Horatio met his new neighbor and got to know her.

Chapter 3:

Four Months Earlier:

Horatio, ignoring the nearly debilitating fatigue that had been hounding him lately, quickly rounded the corner of the atrium, more annoyed than usual that he was running behind schedule. Only a few moments late for his meeting with Audrey Daltry, the new head of the Dade County Child Protective Services, he hoped she hadn't been waiting long. She was already there, standing under the distinctive, slanted windowed wall, her back to him; talking to someone he couldn't see. Having met the elegantly tall black woman only a couple of times, he had been impressed, not only with her stature, but also with her ability to get things done.

Hearing his widely spaced steps, she turned, revealing the shorter woman in front of her. "Ah, here you are."

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Audrey." He shook hands and turned to look at who was standing next to her.

"Oh, please, don't worry yourself. We were almost late ourselves," Audrey was nothing if not a tad overly gracious at times. She turned and began, I would like to introduce…" she began but stopped at the stunned looks on both Horatio's and her companion's faces. " Wait—what's going on? You two look like you know each other, already."

Horatio had not yet spoken to his new next-door neighbor, but he had taken note; she, obviously, had done the same. When he had first seen her, he had thought she was a teenaged boy dressed in baggy drawstring trousers and a baggier T-shirt, her dark hair cut raggedly short in the faddish bed-head style. He had only later realized that she was a grown woman, but had seldom seen her after that, and now, in her work clothes—heels, pinstriped charcoal suit with a two-button jacket pulled in at a trim waist, lace-collar white blouse—he saw she was a very attractive woman, albeit, with a none-too attractive hair cut.

Smiling in recognition, his velour-like voice purred quietly, "Audrey, we are next door neighbors."

"Well, why didn't you say so, Mannie?" The taller woman asked, smiling broadly as if accepting the idea of a joke having been played at her expense.

"We haven't exactly met. I just moved in a couple of weeks ago and haven't yet introduced myself. I had no idea he was the Lieutenant Caine you said I was going to meet," she answered shyly.

"Then please allow me; Manuela de la Rojas, Child Advocate Lawyer, and head of our newly established liaison division of the Department of Child Protective Services, Lieutenant Horatio Caine of the Crime Scene Investigation Laboratory."

The two shook hands, assessing; he, with the added interest of this also being his neighbor, she, with suspicion of any interest he showed.

"I understand you will be working closely with the CSI organization, Ms. de la Rojas." Caine felt her pull her hand away from his and ascribed it to shyness, a trait he found attractive in women.

"I'm not really sure what I'll be doing, to tell you the truth," she answered, deferentially looking up at Audrey, who seemed to take that as her cue.

"Horatio, do you have a minute? I mean, for us all to talk, perhaps in your office?" Audrey had a charming way of asking a question while, at the same time, giving a direction. She seldom, however, left any doubt as to which was which.

Hoping he had enough chairs for the three of them in his usually Spartan office, he hesitated only briefly. "Of course, Audrey. Follow me, please."

Leading the CPS agents through the lab, he was, as usual, converged upon by various members of his team; Eric Delko was first, walking with the trio as he said, "H, on the kidnapping at the park, the tire tracks are probably from a late model Chrysler SUV."

"A large car, then. I wonder what else he carries besides helpless children? Unusual that a boy was kidnapped. Tell you anything?"

"Child molester who swings the other way." Eric glanced nervously at the two women, but they seemed to understand exactly what was going on.

"I think you're right. Still qualifies under the Amber Alert. Make sure to put out a call, please. Anything else?"

"No. Witnesses didn't really notice anything until the parents came looking for him. Other than that, nothing from my end, yet. Calleigh is still distributing trace from the scene. Oh! and I'm going through the surveillance tapes from the mini-mart scene next."

"Thank you. Keep me posted."

Delko nodded and veered off down another hallway.

As if hearing her name, Calleigh intercepted the small group as she crossed from yet another hall. Her brilliant smile and blond-haired, green-eyed good looks belied a knowledgeable passion for guns that made her one of the best ballistics experts in Miami. She spoke in a high-pitched voice with a heavy southern drawl, "Oh, Horatio, I'm glad I saw you. I got some trace from the kidnap scene, but not very much. You think we could get a dog to take to the scene, maybe see if there is some blood we missed?"

"Good thinking, Calleigh. Keep me informed on what else you get from the scene, please. Did you get anything yet from that arm you picked up in the everglades?"

The little blond quickened her step to keep up. "Because of the camera strapped around it, we're thinking perhaps tourist, right now. Alexx has the arm in the morgue and she'll tell us if it was taken off the body before or after death. If it was after, we'll assume murder and go from there." She'd talked her way to the door of Caine's office and, now finished, wheeled around and headed back down the stairs. Raising a hand over her shoulder, she called out, "I'll page you as soon as I have anything."

Horatio pushed at the clear glass door of his office and held it while the two ladies entered; glad to see that two chairs and a small bench couch were available. It was curious, he thought to himself, how he only noticed the furniture that he regularly used. The rest of it just served as places to put the endless paperwork he had to deal with. Happy to avoid his desk, he took one of the chairs, while Audrey took the other and Ms. de la Rojas seated herself primly on the couch.

Speaking as if continuing the conversation from the atrium, Daltry went on. "Horatio, do you remember the incident a couple of years or so ago, the one with the little boy who was a key witness in his own mother's murder?"

"Little Stevie Valdez. Yes, I do." His brows knit together at the memory.

"It was that case that set the wheels in motion to bring in the new division we've finally opened this week. As wonderful a job as the police department and CSI people did in protecting him, the child was still nearly killed, and his legal rights were seriously violated."

Horatio's head bobbed at her words as though he were trying to duck, his eyebrows high on his forehead, almost joined. He looked at the CPS director from the corner of his eye and pointed out, saying, "He was never hurt." He remembered the overzealous legal aide who had told her client where the child was staying, which had resulted in an attempt on little Stevie's life as well as jeopardizing the lives of his sister-in-law, Police Detective Yelena, and her son, Ray, Jr.

"And didn't I just say you people did wonderfully? I know you did everything you could. Because of your efforts, Lieutenant Caine, he wasn't hurt; but it was my department's failure to consider the possibility of such an incident. Because of that, he did very nearly die. All aspects of the welfare of a child are our responsibility."

Horatio still bore a wounded look.

Daltry continued. "It wasn't only that incident, but several others throughout the county since then that spurred us to see if we could perhaps fill that need, and thus," as if introducing a guest speaker, she raised her hand slightly, "we now have Manuela on board to head a whole new department. For now, we're calling her a legal liaison for the police department. She'll act as a child advocate for those children who must come under police protection either as witnesses or even as evidence unto themselves."

Briefly pausing, Audrey smiled grandly at her newest protégé and Horatio guessed from the younger woman's silence that she was not used to being put into the spotlight.

Audrey continued, "Now, I really hope that from here on, whenever you have an unprotected child come into your care or into the police department, you will be calling her." Emphasizing 'hope' in such a way as to make it another friendly directive, she smiled and then gushed on. "She'll also be setting up safe locations for those children in emergency situations and finding qualified people to supervise."

As she finished, having listened thoughtfully to Audrey, elbows on his knees, his arms raised, hands clasped together beside his lowered head, Horatio lifted his eyes, answering quietly, "Ms. de la Rojas, I wish I would never have to call you, but I know I will." He offered a slight smile, his eyebrows drawing together.

"Let us hope not too soon." Manuela said gently. She smiled briefly in return, but, as if catching herself doing something unseemly, quickly composed her features to a more passive mask.

"Manuela is an expert on Florida child law," Audrey proudly expounded. "For the last five years she did pro bono work aiding abused children and helped set up legal agencies to work with Child Protective Services in several counties. We had to practically bribe her to take on a real job."

Manuela bowed her head modestly for a second at Horatio's close-mouthed smile of appreciation. Then, raising her head back up quickly, she looked as if she were forcing herself to gaze more seriously at the lieutenant. "Would it be possible for me to come to observe the department for a day or two? To see how you work? When you do call on my services, I want to be able to help, not interfere, and if I can see what you do here ordinarily, I'll have a better idea of how stay out of the way when I have to."

"Of course, I'll give you my number and we can make arrangements when you're ready." Reaching into his inside jacket pocket, he pulled out a card and handed it to her.

Both looked to Audrey, who took her cue and stood up. "Well, we still have to visit the rest of the Police Department. Thank you for your time, Horatio."

"It's been a pleasure, Audrey, Ms. De la Rojas."

Shaking Daltry's hand and then Ms. de la Rojas', he noticed how she seemed to look into his face searchingly, perhaps suspiciously, as they touched, but again, felt her break the brief contact almost abruptly. This habit of hers bothered him, but then, he found himself being concerned by even the blandest things of late, probably, he realized, because he was so weary.

After the farewells, Horatio watched as the two women descended the stairs. As soon as he was sure they were safely on their way, he dismissed the thought of how worn-out he was, how much he wanted to crawl under his desk and sleep. Instead, he turned to the next pressing matter, which was to start on some of the ungodly amount of paperwork required for each and every case his team covered.

Hating red tape as much as anyone, he usually let this part of his duties go until the brass screamed. Among the messages, waiting for him that morning, was the equivalent to a scream, so he'd reluctantly scheduled this time, after the talk with Audrey, for paperwork.

In every case, not only did all evidence have to be documented—context of location found, how the location related to the crime, the relevance, the analytic findings (chemical or physical), charts or drawings by the officer who found it—but then, each analyst had a form to fill out on their findings. Everything was supposed to be reviewed and signed by Horatio.

Then, every crime scene required a general report—how much evidence was found, where and how collected, by whom, why, how it was transported to the lab, which required yet another review and another signature.

Many crimes had more than one scene, so another general report also listed how the scenes related to each other and, of course, to the crime, and how the evidence, found at each, related to each.

Witness interviews had to be recorded and transcribed with documentation as did suspect interrogations.

The entire body of the paperwork for each case, which included any necessary initialed corrections, statement verifications, plus a summary, sometimes hundreds of pages, all had to be reviewed. Finally, he had to fill out a statement swearing to the veracity of everything he already signed, and sign that.

After the paperwork was finished, after the trial was over, the evidence, with the paperwork could be taken from the evidence room and sent it to the archive case room where all case boxes were kept for several years before finally being shipped to the archive warehouse.

He never dared to think about the redundancy of this duty because there was no fighting it, no getting around it; it was part of the job, period. He ignored the fact that it was also stressful and wearying to be constantly reminded by everyone, from the Chief of CSI and up, how important it was he get it 'all' right, every time. Unconsciously sighing, he sat down at the desk to start, but thoughts about all there was to do kept rambling chaotically in his mind. Try as he might, he couldn't seem to concentrate!

A smooth, honeyed voice interrupted, "Horatio, I know I'm late with these reports on those kids; I'm sorry."

He looked up, grateful for the Medical Examiner's intrusion. "Alexx."

"The parents of the last one finally picked their baby up. Would you believe they had to fly in from Madagascar? What were they doing, leaving their child alone while they went on vacation? Like a kid just turned eighteen has enough sense to stay out of trouble." Dr. Alexx Woods had very definite opinions about how to raise children properly, and voiced them clearly, even to the bodies in her morgue, when no one else was available. "I figured it was better to keep the reports together and give them all to you at once. Is that okay?"

'_Some days you just aren't going to get ahead'_, the thought in his head sneered. "That's fine Alexx, but you could have sent them up."

A hand flopped in dismissal, "The report is due and besides, I'd never get up here to see you if I didn't find excuses."

"I appreciate it, thank you. Just set them down and I'll look when I get done here.

The exotic-looking black woman glanced around at the piles of folders and heaps of papers scattered about the office. "Oh, no! I'm officially handing these to you. Now if you set them down and lose them, it's on you."

Accepting the sheaf of papers with a grim smile, Horatio seemed to nod and shake his head at the same time. "Got it."

"Just so you don't ever have to say on my annual report that I held up the closing of a case."

"Is it that time again?"

"Eight years this month." She shook her head over the passage of time.

Caine's chin dropped to his chest. "Hmm."

Pushing on the door to leave, Alexx added over her shoulder, "Oh and I'll start working on that arm next."

Without raising his head he replied, "I understand Dan, in the A/V Lab has the camera?"

"Sent it as soon as I took it off the arm."

She left so quickly that she probably didn't hear his soft, "Thank you, Alexx."

On each of his team's anniversaries, he had to write a report documenting their work and assessing their contributions to the department and he wished he didn't. He wished, instead, that he could just write a single annual report stating that his team were all doing their jobs and to please give them whatever raises, whatever promotions were due, and to otherwise just leave them and him the hell alone. To have their jobs—their livelihoods—rest on his personal analysis of their work was very trying. The reports required he specify each accomplishment (for their sake), minimize each unfortunate error (for the department's sake), and sound like he knew exactly what was going on at all times with each team member, which forced him to just plain lie (apparently for the sake of the brass, who lied as a matter of course).

As with the case files, the powers-that-be made the annual employee reports sound as if they were of vital importance. The problem was, when you had to 'care' about the employee reports, as if they involved matters life and death, and 'care' about the thousands of pages of documentation of hundreds of cases, and 'care' about solving the cases, and 'care' about accuracy, and 'care' about doing it all fast enough to save other people from being victimized, and 'care' about the victims, and 'care' and 'care'—Oh god! Where did it all end? And he was so incredibly tired all of the time!

Sighing raggedly, he ran a hand through his gold-red hair; and pushed himself to his feet to look for the case folder for the three teens found dead of drug overdose the previous week. So far, it appeared as if all of their deaths had been self-inflicted accidents, there being no evidence of violence found at the scene. The kids had been too young, had too much access to drugs, and did too much partying; end of story. He found the file, laid Alexx's reports under the others in the folder, and returned it to the stack. He walked his tired self to his desk, sat, reached for the file on the right-hand stack, and took a breath. Where was an interruption when you needed it?

When he arrived home that night, close to midnight, he first stepped out onto his patio, ostensibly to take in the view from the balcony but also, just briefly, to glance through the lattice, at the place next door. Dark, as he expected it would be, he returned inside. Throwing off his clothes, he fell into bed, exhausted, and rose a few hours later to start another day. Home, any more, was merely a place to change clothes, clean up, sleep, and leave.

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He continued to leave early and come home late each day, weekends included, but, now, on arriving home, he regularly stepped out onto his patio and checked through the lattice work to see if her lights were on, just in case. After all, he'd met her now, she had a name, they were going to work together, so he was only trying to be polite.

Not interrupting his driving schedule, he did not see his neighbor for the next week and, no doubt, eventually, he would have forgotten about her if she hadn't made good on her promise to call to make formal arrangements to visit the lab.

Overall, Manuela impressed Horatio with her quiet, intelligent interest, especially regarding procedures relating to both criminals and victims, and any questions she asked were perceptive and well thought out. Once she appeared satisfied that she had learned what she could about normal operations, she thanked him and the others she had met and left.

A couple of weeks after her lab tours, on a rare late Saturday morning that he didn't go in to work, Horatio spotted Manuela out on her patio. Greeting her, the reply was more distant than shy, more cool than reserved, almost as if her privacy were being invaded. Determined to break the ice, but sensing a need to be cautious, he continued with banal conversation, commenting on the location of their condominium in relation to their work and on the number of tourists who paraded past. It wasn't until asking if she had found the frequent rainfall saved on laundry bills that he drew a smile and saw her shoulders lower fractionally. True, the conversation following was brief, but it was a beginning.

After that, he sometimes managed to walk through his front door earlier than his usual ten-to-midnight schedule, and each time, he'd wander casually out onto his patio. If she was out also, he'd give her a casual 'hey.' and after a couple of weeks, it got so she greeted him just as often. They'd talk for half-an-hour or so, but, sooner or later, she'd end the conversation, almost abruptly declaring a need to 'get inside,' starting to back up before she had even finished the excuse. It was as if she had reached some sort of limit of tolerance, but of what, he could not determine.

A couple of weeks after that, they both unlocked their respective sides of the gate that separated the two patios. He had invited her over to join him in viewing the weekly fireworks display put on by one of the hotels down the beach, since the view was better from his balcony. The next time, she came over to comment on some music he had playing on the CD player. Eventually, he enjoyed her company once or twice a week.

Though he never relocked his side, he knew she did hers, and the gate always remained standing open during her visits. He had the feeling it was because it made her comfortable to have an escape available at all times. Eventually, he came to recognize the point where the quick excuse to 'get inside' was coming, as she started to shift in her chair and look at the gate even before rising to leave.

From their conversations, he found a sort of camaraderie in their desire to make things right for the public they both served. More and more, he looked forward to seeing her, though it was seldom more than two or three times a week, if that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimers**: All characters from CSI: Miami are property of CBS. I own nothing connected with CBS or with CSI: Miami, I don't know anyone connected with CBS or with the show. I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

**Title**: Mutual Valor

**Pairing**: Horatio Caine/OC

**Rating**: NC 17 I know, 'M' is an accepted rating, but this is just in case you don't know, this is what 'M' means. This is not only for sexual content, but also for violence and references to sexual child abuse well.

**Spoilers**: There are references to previous episodes through fourth season.

**Challenge**: For you true experts on all CSI: Miami, the J's I use for story breaks, and the Sorority House, are references to one episode in particular. It will be up to you to figure out which episode and why I used the lines of J's.

**Comments**: Both negative and positive comments are always appreciated. I learn from the negative and enjoy the positive.

**Thank you:** Many thanks to my betas, Elena and Tonie. If not for you, this would have been a mess! I am truly grateful for your efforts.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary:** Story: Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued.

Chapter 4: New cases for the team. Horatio's neighbor makes peace, of sorts.

Chapter 4:

Stetler seemed to know that Horatio would not stay off duty until Monday and since seven that Friday morning, the IAB agent had been prowling the hallways of the lab waiting for him to show up. Of course, he took note of the various tactics employed by almost everyone on the floor to avoid him, but let it go; he had no need of them, at the moment, and knew they would be available for his scrutiny if he ordered them to be; that was all that mattered. He surely didn't need to ask them if Lieutenant Caine was coming in, and other than that, had no reason to speak with them—he was not part of them and wouldn't want to be even if he could. He knew Caine would be coming in, and as soon as he did, that arrogant bastard would be in the wrong, and he'd have him. He loved his job.

When Horatio stepped off the elevator at seven-thirty a.m., coming up from the underground parking, he paused at the front desk, unsurprised to see Stetler come barreling towards him. In fact, he would have been surprised had Stetler not been there.

Following his usual practice of ignoring the man for as long as possible, he calmly asked for his messages from Deputy Paula, the attendant at the front desk. While Stetler stood glaring at him, he assumed an attitude of being completely engrossed in the notes and by the time the sergeant started talking, he was half way through leafing through the two days' worth he'd been handed.

"Caine."

"Stetler."

"You were ordered to remain off duty until Monday."

"Following your interrogation today, that order will be modified, won't it? One reason for coming in was to give you the opportunity to perform your job with alacrity." Horatio spoke, his voice quietly smooth as Columbian coffee, not even bothering to looking up from his messages.

"The order may be modified but until then you are off duty." Taking a step forward, Stetler got as close as he dared, wanting to get right into Caine's face, but knowing better.

Horatio was losing patience. "Sergeant, I understand that I am assigned to desk work until I am cleared for duty. Be that as it may," he continued, looking up from his messages straight into Stetler's eyes as his voice dropped quickly from a conversational level to a low, edgy growl, pointedly delineating each word—in short—talking to Stetler as he usually did, "there are many unofficial duties I can and will carry out, which is why I came in." He smiled sardonically, "I assume you will call me as soon as you are ready to do the interview. Or are you ready now?"

Stetler found himself having to physically back off to avoid having it look like Caine was getting in his face. "I'll let you know. Should I call you in your office or will I be able to find you at the counselor's office?"

Horatio started walking. "Just page me." He didn't need to see Stetler's face to know he had just irritated the hell out of the man. '_Heh, tit for tat_.'

Sitting at his desk, Horatio decided that none of the messages required responses: most merely contained information from a variety of sources, a few were invitations for interviews from news media, some were from his primary team members, pretending to be requests to see them over case discoveries, thinly disguising their concern for him. All but these last were put into a drawer that held all messages for a year, because no matter how trivial the messages might be, any one of them might become evidence somewhere down the line.

Stuffing the team's messages into his jacket pocket, he began thinking about Stetler's none-too-subtle hint to visit the counselor. The department had a psychologist on board at all times, not only for Forensics, but to provide a safe place for department members to bring their concerns about their jobs. For some, just dealing with the usual day-to-day events brought up a need to talk, to sort things out. For others, a traumatic event, most especially when one had to shoot and kill someone, even a criminal, the psychologist was considered necessary, to listen for any psychological danger signals, to act as a guide to calmer emotional waters.

Personally, Horatio had always resisted going to see the counselor. It wasn't that he was above such things, he just, well, he didn't have the time and besides, he usually worked things out for himself. Today, however, he realized that, he simply didn't need to talk to anyone because he didn't need to sort things out. In fact, the horrible events of two days ago hadn't even been the first thing on his mind this morning. Getting dressed, he'd been thinking about how enjoyable dancing with Manuela had been until he'd reached into the top drawer of the dresser for his gun, and remembered why it wasn't there. Recalling, he'd felt distress at, again, having to shoot a man, been grieved at what the child had suffered, was saddened for the parents; but he did not experience any of the insurmountably devastating feelings of failure that had paralyzed him forty-eight hours before.

Usually, he reached this more even, and more stable, place in his head only after days or weeks instead of a mere thirty-six hours, but then, he'd had help, and from a completely unexpected source, to say nothing of the method. Turning his seat to face the panoramic view behind his desk, Horatio began musing over Manuela's behavior the previous evening, and what had happened the night before that.

The two events combined into an interesting puzzle; first there was the evening before last, which brought completely new aspects to his thoughts of the lady next door; then, there was the way last night ended, which seemed dichotomous, dissonant to the previous night. The first was extremely beneficial to him, volunteered, and initiated by her, and the second was—he searched his memory for what he already knew about her—perhaps a display of that limit of tolerance he had detected in her before. 'Hmm…'

"Uh, H?" Ryan Wolfe stood in the doorway, peeking around the glass as if it were a brick wall.

Turning, he acknowledged, "Yes, Ryan?" He knew the young CSI always had something interesting.

"I was surprised to see you here, today."

Shocked was more like it. The description they'd all heard of their boss as he departed from the crime scene had them speculating about whether the job had finally gotten to their man of steel. Other men might back into a wall staring wordlessly at a man they'd just killed, but Horatio Caine? Never, unless he was cracking—

"Were you?" Horatio answered evenly. He knew very well what rumors would have been flying through the lab and knew how to end them.

"Glad you're here, though."

Amazingly, the boss sounded calm, like nothing had happened. Well, okay then, business as usual—

Not having been told he was interrupting, Wolfe assumed he wasn't. "We just got an interesting call."

"Oh?"

"Seems they found a mummy in a condo. Alexx and I are going to go check it out."

"A mummy?"

Seeing the boss was definitely interested, "Yeah, that's what the report says. Apparently a realtor went in to inspect a new property and found this body."

"A body dump?"

"Who knows? Thought I'd tell you."

"Thank you. I'm not cleared for duty, yet, or I'd accompany you, but keep me posted, please."

"Sure." Ryan turned and left.

Wishing he could have gone to see the mummy, Horatio tried to remember what he was doing before Ryan's appearance. Well, when in doubt there were always reports, so he pulled the top folder off of the stack to his right. This one was the case file on the arm found in the Everglades about four months ago. The file was only about an inch thick instead of several because of the simplicity of the solve.

As it turned out, the arm, belonging to a tourist from Japan, had been severed while the victim was still alive, and the final determination was accidental death. Dan Cooper, the audio-visual specialist, had been able to save several pictures from the camera, an older film type, which had been attached to the arm. The recovered photos helped to determine, among other things, that the victim was probably Japanese, on a tour in Miami. From there it had been easy to find the missing person report, filed by a tour company the day after the rental car had been found, seemingly abandoned, in the Everglades. According to the dossier, kept by the high-end tour company that catered to the desires of the wealthy clients who hired them, this particular tourist wanted a do-it-yourself, up-close-and-personal, picture of an alligator. Not only had he demanded they rent him a large safari-type SUV but had insisted on going alone to the Everglades with only a map as a companion and guide. And there, he had apparently gotten about as up-close-and-personal to an alligator as was possible. The last photo exposed on the roll showed a blur that was unmistakably a very chummy shot of the pale-pink inside of a reptile's mouth complete with a set of brownish teeth. The man apparently hadn't thought those things could move that fast.

His pager beeped just as he was signing the final form on his report for the case file. Stetler was ready to interview him about "the weapon discharge and subsequent death of another person." He couldn't help but shake his head over Stetler's choice of words.

On his way to the interrogation room, he ran into Calleigh. "Horatio," her southern drawl wound sweetly around his name, "I finished with your gun, and it's ready for you in the Current Evidence room."

"Always efficient, as usual. Thank you Calleigh. I have an interview with Stetler right now and will pick up the gun when he's done with me." A sideways glance showed she was looking up at him emotionlessly out of the corner of her eye, which was her way of expressing sympathy for him having to face her least favorite person in the building. Horatio smiled tightly in return.

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Later that day, his gun restored to his hip and his right to active duty renewed, Horatio was in the morgue listening to Alexx.

"Horatio, I don't think I have ever seen anything like this in my life. I mean, look at him."

With curious wonder, she indicated the curled form on the metal examining table in front of them. Most notably, it really did look like an unwrapped mummy, only it was not quite as well preserved as one that might be found in the Cairo Museum. The eyes, which had decomposed, were little more than empty sockets with dark trails on the leathery face where fluid seeped out, and there was some evidence of the same sort of staining in what he could see of the abdominal area, behind the legs which were drawn up, but otherwise the figure was perfect.

"Alexx, can you fill me in, please? Tell me your impressions of the scene where he was found."

"Strange, Horatio, very strange, let me tell you. The place looked like it had never been lived in. There was hardly any furniture, only a couple of folding chairs, a card table, and then the bed where the body was found. Another card table beside the bed was used as a night stand."

"And the body?"

"Found on the bed, in a fetal position, on its left side, facing the night stand. So mummified and stiff we couldn't unfold him; had to load him like this on the gurney." She put the back of her wrist to her hip and put on her famous 'attitude.' "Except for being so shriveled it would have been a devil to get him through that door."

Smiling a 'Hmm,' he stared at the form on the table, taking in every observable detail.

"I had him turned onto his right side so I could get a look at what decomp there is in the muscle tissue and skin where it lay against the bedding."

"Any conclusions yet?"

"I'm almost positive this man died of starvation on the bed where he was found. He literally curled up and died." She turned back to peer into the body's contorted face. "Sweetheart, who did this to you?"

"Why the lack of decomp on most of the body?" He had wrapped an arm to his waist and cradled his elbow against the back of one hand, the other up to his mouth, knuckles under his nose, eyebrows digging a furrow into the top of his nose.

"Good question." Alexx looked up into the blue eyes still aimed at the victim and smiled; Horatio's curiosity about even the gruesome details of death was so gratifying. Her voice took on the timbre of a lecturer:

"With starvation, death occurs before the muscle tissue completely wastes away. People think all of the body systems are starved at once and that's just not true. It's the organs that fail from lack of nutrients, and that is what causes death. Most of the nutrients we need to live are stored in the body fat and with starvation, body fat is the first to go. When the fat is gone, the blood starts searching elsewhere for food for the essential organs, which is when the muscles start to degenerate. Problem is, they don't store much in the way of nutrients so, before much muscle wasting occurs, the organs go hungry. Usually, the liver fails first, causing poisons to accumulate in the blood, which can cause heart arrhythmia and failure. So, Mr. Mel Watson, here, still had some muscle before he died, but little enough that whatever dried out the skin, also dried the muscle before it had a chance to rot. I'll have to do a post to determine just exactly what the COD was, but I'm guessing heart failure caused by starvation."

She paused in her discourse, smoothing back the desiccated body's fringe of hair circling his bald scalp. "You know, he had a bunch of water bottles on the night stand by the bed so he didn't die of thirst. That would have been too quick, huh, Sweetie?" she asked the corpse before continuing:

"So, hydration left the ordinarily wet tissues like eyes and stomach in relatively complete shape at TOD. Those, being wet, did suffer some decomp, but after that, only the muscles on the side he was lying on, between his legs and under his arms, showed some deterioration, but the rest of the body is pretty well preserved. Now, why he didn't rot in the Miami heat and humidity, that's one for you to figure out."

"Tissue samples to the lab?"

"Sugar, that was the first thing I did." Alexx shot him a wide smile and moved toward Horatio a step as if to nudge him playfully. "You thinking he ingested some sort of preservative?"

He raised both his shoulders and eyebrows in a shrug. "Alexx, anything is possible."

Alexx shook her head and grinned, "Don't I just know it. People can think of more peculiar ways to die, can't they?"

Then, noticing something in his face, she tipped her head to one side and frowned slightly, inquiring, "Horatio? Excuse me if I'm out of place, here, but have you been talking with someone about the last couple of days? I mean, I didn't even think until just now, but you had a rough day just forty-eight hours ago and now here you are. I see you're not a hundred percent, but you seem to be doing pretty well."

He glanced at the ME before switching back to just staring at nothing in particular, "Yeah, Alexx," he nodded, "I'm not all okay, but I'm better—I'm getting through it." His smile was weak but not feigned. "Thanks for asking."

"I'm so glad to hear it." She nodded but knew better than to ask what the secret to his recovery was.

Changing stance, Horatio's voice dropped just slightly. "Speaking of which, did you finish the post on the man—" he almost faltered, "—I shot?"

Changing gears, as he had, Alexx stepped over to the bank of refrigerated vaults, opened one in the top row and pulled a shelf out. She pulled the sheet back, revealing the body of a young man, perhaps in his mid-twenties.

Horatio found himself swallowing at the sight of the face he'd seen alive for only a fraction of a second. As the entire drama quickly played out in his mind, his jaw jutted forward a quarter of an inch, the desire to kill the bastard—not in protection of his life, but for the gruesome thing he'd been doing to the child—flashed through him, and, just as quickly, was gone, leaving only sad disgust for the waste of the man's life.

"Bullet penetrated the right side, between the fifth and sixth ribs, passing straight through to the right lung, into the lower part of the right ventricle at an upward angle and through the upper part of the left ventricle. It ricocheted off the inside of the left third rib, and lodged in the lower anterior of his left scapula." Her voice held no passion for the child molester stopped dead in his tracks.

"Anything else? Any drugs in his system?"

"None that I could find. He was physically healthy." Alexx's voice lowered into a feminine growl as her lip curled in disgust. "Mentally, though, this jerk had to be a mess, a cesspool."

After a silent moment, his jaw moving ever so slightly side to side, Horatio nodded briefly, thanked Alexx, and left the morgue.

Late that afternoon, having checked up on the team's progress on five other cases, two robberies and three homicides, concluding his own chemical analysis of trace found at one of the homicides and writing the report, Horatio decided he had to do one more thing before going home.

"Alexx?"

Looking up from her final swipe of the exam table, "To what do I owe two visits in one afternoon?"

"I'd like to see the boy, the one that…"

"Oh, Sweetie," she said, moving to Horatio's side, she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Are you sure?" The silent nod and bowed head was too familiar an answer. "Actually, his parents will be here to collect him in a little while."

Again the silent nod—apparently he knew, which was probably why he had come in now, wanting time to say goodbye again, to be the one to hand the boy over to his parents. She knew him well enough to know he would talk with them, would give them comfort, look for none for himself, and would find out when and where the memorial service would be.

And so, she showed him where the boy was, then left him in a personal reverie, bent on one knee, peering into the face of one of the few he hadn't been able to save.

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At home, a couple of hours later, sitting in the chaise lounge in the balmy night air, the sounds of Ethel Waters mournfully singing the blues wafting from the stereo, Horatio was surprised to hear the sound of the gate being unlocked and turned to see Manuela leaning against the door frame.

"I heard the music."

"Sounds better over here. Come, sit." He gestured to the other chaise lounge and settled back into his own as she approached

Sitting down, dressed in her usual off-work baggy attire, she drew her legs up to her chest and laid her head on her knees, facing away, as if engrossed in the music. After a few moments, as the music paused, then moved onto the laments of Billie Holiday, she leaned back and spoke.

"I want to apologize for last night. I really 'way over reacted and I'm sorry."

"I'm the one who has to apologize to…"

"Maybe so" she interrupted, 'and I accept yours but that doesn't erase my overreaction, so, again, I'm sorry." The words came rushing out of her.

"Did you want to talk about it?"

One eyebrow traveled upward while the other darted down toward her nose. "No," she answered quickly, her tone leaving no room for argument. Then, smiling she glanced over at him, "Uh, thanks anyway, but no. I just wanted to see if you're okay with just letting things go back to where they were."

"Well, I was sort of curious about the night before…"

Putting up a hand to stop him, she met his gaze. "Maybe someday I can talk about that but for now," she gave Horatio another one of those searching looks, "can we just let it be what it was and leave it at that?"

He wasn't sure just what she meant but understood enough to realize that she wanted both subjects, the matter of two nights before, and the one of last night, closed. He briefly considered asking for more information but, then, just nodded, "Okay." About to settle back and he suddenly remembered his manners, "Can I get you something?"

"I'm good. Thanks. Nice music."

The companionable silence between them went unbroken for almost an hour until Horatio's phone rang. Both of them knew it was a call to duty before he even answered it.

Two hours after he left, Mannie received a call of her own. "Manuela? Horatio. Can you come to the lab? We seem to be in need of your services."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimers**: All characters from CSI: Miami are property of CBS. I own nothing connected with CBS or with CSI: Miami, I don't know anyone connected with CBS or with the show. I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

**Title**: Mutual Valor

**Pairing**: Horatio Caine/OC

**Rating**: NC 17 I know, 'M' is an accepted rating, but this is just in case you don't know, this is what 'M' means. This is not only for sexual content, but also for violence and references to sexual child abuse well.

**Spoilers**: There are references to previous episodes through fourth season.

**Challenge**: For you true experts on all CSI: Miami, the J's I use for story breaks, and the Sorority House, are references to one episode in particular. It will be up to you to figure out which episode and why I used the lines of J's.

**Comments**: Both negative and positive comments are always appreciated. I learn from the negative and enjoy the positive.

**Thank you:** Many thanks to my betas, Elena and Tonie. If not for you, this would have been a mess! I am truly grateful for your efforts.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary:** Story: Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued.

Chapter 5: Horatio and Manuela find working together not as easy as it should be.

Chapter 5:

"His mother was shot and killed about three hours ago."

Standing in the hallway, looking through the glass wall to the interrogation room, they were both very aware of the African-American boy of about fourteen years inside the room who sat slumped in a chair, staring dejectedly at the glass-topped table in front of him.

"His name is M'Fuan Jackson and the main reason I called you is, because he told me that he has no other relatives. All he had was his mother."

Even from a distance, anyone would have questioned the young man's age since, even sitting, it was obvious he was at least six feet tall and well over two hundred pounds. Only by his youthful face would one have guessed.

"I'll ask again when I talk to him."

"We," he paused briefly, glancing down at Manuela before returning his watchful gaze onto his new charge, "need to protect him. He witnessed the shooting and said they were members of a gang who have been trying to get him to join. They will be after him, now."

"So shooting his mother was to get him to join?"

Smiling ruefully at her innocent sarcasm, he huffed a 'heh, before he answered, "Well, apparently that was an accident." Horatio shifted his stance, brushed his jacket aside as he raised his hands to his hips, and sighed over the old, old story. "We've seen this before. Part of the incentive to join a gang is the claim of protection from enemies. They show the prospective member the value of protection by setting up a threatening situation, like a drive-by shooting. With no particular target in mind, they usually pick a moment when the street is empty, thinking there will be no witnesses or victims. Unfortunately," the lieutenant's jaw jutted out in disgust while his voice lowered, "these young men forget that bullets penetrate walls and windows, which is what happened in this case. His mother was waiting by the window for M'Fuan to return from an evening football practice."

"And he saw this happen?"

"The killers apparently did not notice the very large city bus, which was discharging its passenger on the corner across the street from their target. It's called tunnel vision. M'Fuan heard the shots, and just as the bus pulled away, saw the car and the occupants as they fled the scene."

"So," following Horatio's lead, Manuela also kept her eyes on the child in the room as she spoke, "as far as we know he is now an orphan, making him a ward of the state, as well as a witness, and he's in danger."

"This is why I called."

Mannie squared her shoulders and pulled at the hem of her jacket. "Okay, well, looks like I have a new client and a new caseload. I'll talk to him and see what needs to be done."

Urgency crept into Horatio's voice, "These gangs have ears everywhere. They will find out that M'Fuan is a witness and they will want to kill him. We must protect this kid; his life is in danger."

"Actually, "we," as in Child Protective Services, must provide the protection. That's what I'm here for." She smiled up at the lieutenant. "You can't really provide protection without violating his rights."

Horatio's slight headshake, as he glanced down at the floor, in preparation to rebut the remark, was lost on Manuela; she had already turned and walked into the room where the boy was sitting.

Half an hour later, Manuela summoned Horatio and spoke to him outside of the room, "We have a problem."

"Oh?" He refrained from asking if she had a mouse in her pocket, since she had made it clear this was 'her' case and no business of the police or his department.

Manuela couldn't help notice the change in Horatio's physical and emotional distance, which was so different from when he'd first greeted her nearly an hour ago. Although the situation was unfortunate, he'd seemed to be pleased to have been able to call her, smiling and tilting his head down to look at her, shaking her hand. Now he was almost hostile, raising his chin, pushing his jaw out slightly, veiling his eyes under half-closed lids. She even noticed that his eyes seemed a different color, more storm gray than the usual sparkling blue-green.

"First," she said, "M'Fuan, confirmed he does not have any other relatives. I'm going to run a check tomorrow, but for now, we have to assume he's alone. Ordinarily we'd just call the Department to take him into custody and he'd be inducted into the system. Because of the gang threat, he'd be taken into a group home or foster care in a distant county, but since you will need him for questioning, he'll have to stay here in Miami, and with a threat to him being more than a possibility, he'll need to go into a Safe House for now." Not sure how to put the next piece of information, distracted by Horatio's contentious attitude, she hesitated.

Her pause brought a cold prompt, "And?"

She sighed, "And at the moment, I have an ideal person cleared, a former Juvenile Detention officer, still licensed to carry weapons, willing to work at a moment's notice with teen boys, but unfortunately," she added, looking apologetically at Horatio, "he's not available tonight."

Horatio raised his hands to set one behind his holstered gun and the other behind his gold lieutenant's badge hooked to his belt. "Okay, no problem; we'll keep him here for tonight. We have a room with bunks in it over on the Police Department side."

Mannie shook her head quickly. "Huh-uh. I can't let that happen. He is a fourteen-year-old child and must be released from police custody if he is not being charged with a crime. Keeping him here otherwise would be a violation of the children's rights laws, so to avoid getting your department into hot water, I'm going to take him home with me, tonight."

Horatio's hands slightly changed position against his hips as he raised himself on the balls of his feet. His gaze shifted around and finally settled on the floor to one side of Manuela and said earnestly, "I don't think that's wise."

Feeling the hostility again, she wondered if this was a matter of territory, a question of 'I saw him first, he's mine, and you can't have him?'

"I am an officer of Dade County Child Protective Services and I'm charged with ensuring the protection of children's legal rights. As of right now, I'm formally requesting that a police escort from here to my home be provided within the next half hour." All her years of training had come to the forefront and though not trying to sound like a lawyer on the attack, she was.

"Bad idea, Ms. de la Rojas, bad idea." He had told her before, when she visited months ago, that when working with her he would only refer to her formally, but he hadn't meant it to sound so much like an epithet at the moment. Why, he wondered, were lawyers always so all-fired ready to jump on his neck?

"I have no choice right now!"

"To begin with, you do not let people, brought in here, know where you live."

"He's a child, not a criminal! He is in need of shelter—he has rights!"

"He may be lying about his gang affiliations, we don't know that he is, but he may be. When he learns where you live, you might be opening yourself up to more problems than you wish to handle! That's why there are supposed to be official, protected facilities that can take these children in!" Horatio leaned forward to emphasize his words.

"And I have failed in that regard; I admit that. I'm not thrilled with the idea of playing hostess to a child tonight, but I am taking responsibility and doing what I can!" Her lawyer's instincts told her she had lost ground with the admission. '_Damn! How had this situation deteriorated so fast?_'

"We can provide protection for him here at the station!"

Reaching toward her pocket, she asked, more coldly than she intended, "Are you going to arrange for a police escort, or should I?"

Watching a huge range of emotions—none of them pleasant—flash across the man's face in a little more than a second, Mannie wondered if he was going to continue to oppose her, tell her that she, a small woman, could not possibly provide protection, if it was going to be a 'he-had-spoken-and-it-would-be-so,' standoff? This was turning into a hell of a first time at working together.

Feeling torn between his instincts for preservation and the law, still ragged from the events of the past few days, Horatio stood looking at this woman, who was so staunchly opposing him, and wondered what had caused the rift.

The two spent several seconds attempting to stare each other down. Horatio noticed she was giving an impression of being physically taller and heavier than her five-and-a-half feet, medium build stature and almost smiled at the effect; she was quite a woman to deal with. Finally, he pulled his cell out of his coat pocket to make the call for her police escort.

Relieved, she asked, "Now, are you going home tonight?"

Horatio felt his hackles rise again; he didn't like being questioned by anyone about his movements, for any reason, under ordinary circumstances, and was in no mood for it now. He raised his chin as his eyelids lowered and answered, "Eventually."

"Good. Then you'll be able to bring M'Fuan back here for further questioning in the morning. Our condo is secure, so if I have an escort there and you bring him back tomorrow, that will provide a complete, guarded circle that keeps him safe. Agreed?" Her raised eyebrows signaled that this was as much of a peace offering as she was willing to make.

Knowing when he was defeated in the responsibility game, Horatio looked into Manuela's upturned face and smiled slightly. "Please, just don't mention to him that I live in the same building, much less next door. I'll call you in the morning before I come to pick him up."

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The next morning at eight-thirty, Horatio formally knocked at Manuela's front door as if just arriving. Moments later, feeling like a babysitter getting instructions from an overly concerned parent, he was told, "You are to ask him no questions at the department, Lieutenant Caine, none, until I can be there with him. I have to get to my office and make some calls before I can get to the lab, which will be in about two hours. Don't let anyone near him, do you understand? Now, he's had breakfast so don't stop on the way…"

"I understand, Ms. de la Rojas. I think I can handle this."

Manuela looked at the raised head, the straight line of the lips, the slight furrows above the bridge of the nose, the very steady gaze from under the reddish eyebrows and realized she, again, had somehow irked this man. Bowing her head, she stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter, unable to keep the smile from her lips as she watched him out of the corner of her eye. Here she was, just trying to make sure he understood the kid's rights, and he seemed to be getting, well, huffy. First last night and now, he appeared determined to fight her every step of the way. Well, well, it seemed that working with Horatio Caine was going to get touchy now and again. A good thing she had learned a sense of humor in the last few years.

Horatio peered at the boy still seated on the couch beside a stack of folded blankets. "You ready, partner?" The boy, appearing to be even larger than the night before, turned to look up, his eyes dull, showing no interest in rising.

The night before, Horatio had been busy on the murder scene, working the details of preserving and collecting evidence and guiding his team, so when he'd had to question this young man, he had not been able to pay much attention to him other than as a witness. At the same time, M'Fuan had been too angry, too much in shock, too confused to understand what had happened to him, to be able to do more than give robot-like responses to the authorities that surrounded him. In a way, the two had not yet met, and now, the sight of how miserable the boy was, shook Horatio to his heart. Here was another victim, another child, another one he wanted to hug to him, to personally shield from harm's way with his whole being, another one he would never be able to shelter enough. As usual, he resolved instantly that he would provide as much safety as he could, backed with all of the resources available in spite of Manuela's cautions.

He raised his arm in a gesture of friendly invitation. "M'Fuan, have you ever ridden in a Hummer?"

Mannie could hardly believe Horatio's complete change in demeanor, from the steel hard police officer who had just spoken to her, to the gentle, almost feminine personality she was seeing now. Watching the transformation, as his head tilted forward, a sweet, look of inquiry crinkled at his eyes and mouth, and his body leaned forward, she felt a sense of admiration.

M'Fuan's nearly lifeless eyes glimmered at the mention of the 'he-man-hunkin' vehicle.

"That's what I get to drive when I go to work and today, you," he put special emphasis on 'you,' "get to come with me. Then, when we get to the lab, I'm going to show you how we solve crimes. You think you might be ready for that?"

"Uh, yes, sir. I'd like that."

"I see you folded up your blankets. Sleep comfortably here?"

"Um, I got to sleep in the bed. Miz dee lah Rohaas there, she slept out here." Noticing that the two adults glanced at each other when he answered, the youth began to look nervous, wondering if he had perhaps said more than he should have.

"Uhhh, yeah, good. Well, then, let's go."

M'Fuan grabbed a paper sack with his few personal items, stood quickly, and headed for the door.

Dismissing the look she'd gotten at the revelation of the sleeping arrangements, Manuela's next thought was to wonder how Horatio had made the connection with her guest so quickly, frankly amazed at this side of her neighbor, she stood silently as the two passed.

Horatio paused at the door stopping M'Fuan. "I think you might want to thank Ms. de la Rojas, don't you?"

"Oh, sorry." The boy turned to his hostess and said softly, "Yes Ma'am. The bed was real comfortable and the breakfast was good. Oh, and you got nice smelling soap."

"It's been my pleasure, M'Fuan. You were a very good guest. I'll see you in a couple of hours."

"Good man. Now let's go."

Manuela had seen the same fatherly look many times in the past few years, dealing with the Juvenile Detention Officers across Florida. Most of them, as part of their duties, had to assume the role of surrogate parent besides as police officer to the young men and women they dealt with, and to see it on Horatio was truly interesting.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimers**: All characters from CSI: Miami are property of CBS. I own nothing connected with CBS or with CSI: Miami, I don't know anyone connected with CBS or with the show. I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

**Title**: Mutual Valor

**Pairing**: Horatio Caine/OC

**Rating**: NC 17 I know, 'M' is an accepted rating, but this is just in case you don't know, this is what 'M' means. This is not only for sexual content, but also for violence and references to sexual child abuse well.

**Spoilers**: There are references to previous episodes through fourth season.

**Challenge**: For you true experts on all CSI: Miami, the J's I use for story breaks, and the Sorority House, are references to one episode in particular. It will be up to you to figure out which episode and why I used the lines of J's.

**Comments**: Both negative and positive comments are always appreciated. I learn from the negative and enjoy the positive.

**Thank you:** Many thanks to my betas, Elena and Tonie. If not for you, this would have been a mess! I am truly grateful for your efforts.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary:** Story: Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued.

Chapter 6: Manuela discovers it can be dangerous to work with CSI. Horatio learns something new about his neighbor

Chapter 6:

Almost two and a half hours later, M'Fuan let out a playful groan when he saw the schoolbooks Manuela was carrying.

As she laid the books on the table in the interview room she assured him, "I figured you'd need these. With the school year only being two weeks from being over, you just can't let your studies go." She also wanted to keep him occupied, his mind away from his predicament.

Bob Verron, who had come with her, spoke up. "I'm a certified teacher so I'll be able to help with your studies. It'll be no sweat."

Manuela introduced Verron, formerly a Juvenile Detention Officer, to M'Fuan and to Horatio.

Shaking his hand, assessing his new charge, he said, "M'Fuan, I am so sorry I couldn't get here last night."

Verron turned to Horatio, shrugging and smiling apologetically. "I was out of town for a couple of days." Getting no reaction but raised eyebrows from the lieutenant in front of him, he glanced at M'Fuan again and seeing only resignation in the child's upturned eyes asked, "Can M'Fuan and I have a couple of minutes?"

Standing outside of the glassed in room with Horatio, Manuela spoke first. "Bob worked Juvenile Detention at the probation camps for five years. He recently left to pursue a career in teaching. I was lucky to find him just at the transition before he resigned his status as a police officer." Getting only silence from Horatio, she nodded at their mutual charge and asked, " How is he doing?"

"Uh, about as well as can be expected under the circumstances, I think."

"You ready for questioning?"

"Um," a hand went up to rub his lower lip, "actually I already started the process." The embarrassed smile behind his hand looked at odds with his tilted eyebrows.

"Horatio!" she said, forgetting their agreement to use only titles on the job. Every time she thought professional things between them couldn't get any worse!

"I asked him" he patiently explained, "to write out what he remembered of last night from the time he got off the bus." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Time here, Ms. de la Rojas, is of the essence. As a result of questioning him last night, we were able to apprehend two suspects, but there are two more out there. As soon as possible, I need more information! Now, I've looked at what he wrote but have not, repeat not, asked him about it. I needed to find out as quickly as possible if he remembered anything else about the shooting. He did and we might be able to get the other suspects in here now. I was waiting for you before talking to him."

Manuela, drawing in a long breath, took the information in and considered the ramifications for a moment. She let out a heavy sigh. "Okay, you really bent the rules here, but by not speaking to him there was no direct violation." Shaking her head, "Please, Horatio, in the future, don't push at the limits. These are not my rules, but are laws!"

They both gazed through the glass at the two, hunched over the table, as a way of letting the moment of friction between them smooth out.

"I'll need to question him on these statements, see if he remembers anything else," came the reiteration. "Then he needs to look at a line-up to identify the two suspects we picked up last night."

Finishing up his talk with M'Fuan, Verron nodded at Horatio and Manuela, giving a gesture to come in.

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Three hours later Verron, M'Fuan, Horatio, and Manuela stepped out into the bright Miami sunlight in front of the stylish building that housed both the Crime Scene Investigation Laboratory and the Miami-Dade Police Department. His hand on the boy's shoulder, Verron guided M'Fuan, who had an armful of books, in the direction of his car. Manuela remained by the front doors to the building as Horatio walked out ahead and took a watchful stance in the walk midway between the street and the steps that led up to the entry.

Much later, Manuela remembered only hearing Horatio's voice shouting, "Down! Down! Get down, Manuela! Bob, get the boy down!" She had not heard the roar of the engine that precipitated his cries, or the screech of the tires as the car accelerated into the wide area in front, only heard the gunfire from the speeding car that had seemed to start as soon as Horatio had spoken. Ducking down onto the cement in front of the smoked glass doors, she could not help but be mesmerized as Horatio, doing a tuck and roll in the direction of Verron and M'Fuan, efficiently came to his feet and, using a parked car as cover, rapidly fired his pistol at the bullet spitting vehicle. After pushing M'Fuan to the ground, Verron had popped up, pulled his own weapon, and joined Horatio in firing. Both stopped shooting only when the receding car skidded around a corner. The whole incident had run seven seconds from start to finish.

"Jeez! Right in front of the police station! What the hell were they thinking?" Bob shouted as he looked down in disbelief at the gun in his hand. "First time I ever had to fire this thing on duty!"

Ignoring the flustered Verron and putting his own gun in its holster, Horatio ran to the boy sprawled on the sidewalk. "M'Fuan! Are you all right? Come on, back into the building. Run! No! Forget the books! Run!" He pointed to the front doors above the steps.

Picking herself up from the pavement, Mannie had to move aside, while Horatio practically pushed the boy through the doors, but was obliged to follow when he ushered her in with a wide sweep of his arms. Verron, still babbling, followed behind.

As would be expected, M'Fuan's eyes were the size of saucers, the deep brown irises surrounded by white in the heavily perspiring dark brown skin. Seeing his terror, Mannie went to him and wrapped her arms about his shoulders. "Hey! Hey, it's okay. You're safe." Still a child, albeit nearly six feet, he bent down and tried to hide his face in her shoulder. As she patted his back and made small reassuring sounds, she recalled a very old cartoon series about a giant duckling, called Baby Huey and felt something like the tiny mother who would similarly comfort her child.

Seeing Manuela was bit overpowered by this youngster, Verron came quickly to her rescue. Over six feet himself, he threw an arm around the boy's back and tugged at him. "Hey, M'Fuan, c'm'ere, Babe." he said softly. Only with a bit of effort were the two able to transfer the load of the now sobbing, frightened youngster to the broader support of Verron. Manuela then was able to stand at his side and pat his back as well, murmuring reassurance.

Meanwhile Horatio, his breathing just beginning to slow, pacing back and forth in the lobby, was on the phone explaining the situation, describing the car, yelling instructions to go find it. Done, but not satisfied, his lips drawn back in a snarl, he slapped the phone closed and conducted the three into the elevators.

Stepping onto the lab floor, he was concluding, "—which is why, Ms. de la Rojas, I was so concerned for M'Fuan's safety. The word has already gotten out and this was only their first attempt." His anger over the event of the last few moments was barely contained.

Verron was trying to reassure the lieutenant. "I figured they'd make a try but didn't think they'd do it in front of the damn department! Look! We're just going to have to change tactics, here and now, and do it the right way from the get-go. It was my bad, Caine, and I apologize. I'm going to make a few calls and see what I can do to repair the damage." He stepped down the hallway a few feet.

Manuela, was suddenly surrounded by people asking what had been going on, asking how she was. Before responding, she first looked around to check to see how M'Fuan was doing, and seeing that he was being taken care of by Delko, Ryan, and Delmontes, who were making sure he was being calmed down, she allowed herself to be taken to the ladies' room.

She couldn't help but be amused by Alexx, as she came bustling in a few minutes later, remarking, "Don't you dare be dead now, I've got a morgue full and don't need any more!" After doing a quick physical check from head to toe, she put the back of a hand to Manuela's forehead, checked her eyes, and stood back. "Well, other than a bit of a scraped knee there, I'd say you're fine."

Calleigh looked at Manuela in mock seriousness and turned to Alexx. "You think she'll live, Dr. Woods?"

"Slap a band-aid on that knee, Nurse Duquesne, and she'll be cured."

Calleigh put out her hand, "Come on, Mannie, I'll take you over to the lounge and getch'a a fixer. Alexx here doesn't carry them."

"What for? Dead don't need 'em." Alexx bobbed her head so decisively the hair fall at the back of her head bounced. "Ever notice, I don't use a stethoscope either?"

Out in the hallway, Alexx parted for the elevators, remarking on how the world seemed determined to cause her to pass to an early grave, throwing traumatic events her way out of the blue like this, even as the elevator doors closed. Calleigh continued with Manuela into the lounge room, where she pointed to a couch. "You just set yourself there while I rummage through the first-aid kit," she said conversationally.

While Calleigh was solicitously applying the cover to Mannie's knee, Delko escorted a slightly calmer M'Fuan in, telling him to take a seat on the other couch. Apparently, they'd raided the snack machines already. M'Fuan was just finishing a fruit pie and had two candy bars in his shirt pocket.

Delko gave Manuela a smile of mission accomplished and then spoke to his teammate, "Ryan's getting our kits, Calleigh."

Looking up from her kneeling position in front of her patient, the blond CSI asked, "Mannie, you don't by any chance remember how many shots you heard?" At Manuela's wrinkled brow and headshake, she quickly continued, "Oh, don't worry about it. When you're the target, you just don't think about how often you get shot at. I just have to ask, is all." She rose. "Eric, did you take M'Fuan's statement, yet?"

"Uh, no, that's why I brought him in here. We have to do it with Ms. de la Rojas present, remember?" He emphasized Manuela's last name meaningfully.

"Oh, yes!" She glanced over at M'Fuan. "Okay, well, can you also interview Mannie, uh Ms. de la Rojas, too? I'll go down and start processing the scene. You can join me as soon as you're done."

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Two hours later, Verron and M'Fuan left through the guarded parking garage with a police escort, driving a rental car since his car, now part of the crime scene, carried several bullets, including one through the gas tank. Verron now had his own temporary pass card into the structure for future use, as did Manuela.

Before going home, Manuela had a final conference with Horatio on the events of the day. As Horatio collapsed into his chair behind the desk with a groan of relief, she cried out without thinking, "Horatio, are you okay?" Catching herself, she self-consciously lowered her outstretched arm to her lap.

He looked at her briefly, smiling in reassurance, and then raised his gaze to the lab beyond the glass wall, and shook his head slightly. "I'm tired, is all; what with not much sleep last night and then today being a little busy..." Looking back at her, taking note of the damage at the knee of her slacks, he inquired, "How are you doing?"

A slight look of relief at his reassurance passed over her features. "Ooohhh," she allowed herself to groan, "I'm very tired! The adrenalin of the shooting wore off about an hour ago and Whew! I must say, that's quite a letdown."

They looked at each other for a moment, each wanting to say something meaningful about the day's events, but not sure just what.

The moment passed and, breaking the spell, Manuela remarked, "Only you and I know M'Fuan's exact whereabouts. Bob says he has enough supplies in his house for a week and will make arrangements to have deliveries made, if necessary, to avoid going out for now. I expect to be in contact with him daily. He did say he'll bring M'Fuan any time you need to question him again."

"Make sure he calls me if he even thinks there might a problem." Horatio directed.

"Of course, I'll tell him.

Both made internal decisions to let the conflicts over who was protecting M'Fuan go for the moment, knowing that here and now was probably not the time to get personal anyway.

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For the second time in a week, Horatio found himself opening the door to his apartment in the early evening. Instead of staying at the lab for as long as possible, he had finished up everything, then headed home about two hours after Manuela had left. This was after first having spent about ten minutes after her departure, sitting and playing with his lower lip, thinking about her.

It was silly, he knew. She was a colleague, a neighbor and, except for three nights ago, she had never given him the slightest hint of being any more interested in him than had Calleigh or even Alexx. And three nights ago, what had she done? Cuddled him. Removed his clothing, true, and hers, but beyond that, as far as he could remember of the painful, gruesome fog that he had been in, nothing had happened. Apparently, she hadn't even spent the entire night with him. And then, when he had tried to take her in his arms, her reaction had certainly said, 'Back off, Bud!' But still, he thought he sensed something or, perhaps hoped for something, from her. Okay, maybe it was all nothing, all in his head. Then he found he didn't really give a rat's ass. The Chief had told him to take it easy for a few days after being cleared for duty and, for once, he'd decided to follow orders.

Half an hour after arriving home, stepping out onto his balcony in the semi-twilight, he first saw the gate standing open. Peeking through the opening, he could see her bristled hair just showing over the back of the single chaise lounge she owned. "Manuela?"

She turned, dropping her bare feet to the cement floor and greeted him with a smile. "I saw your lights on. You're home early."

He had to think fast. He'd come home hoping to see her, but sure as hell wasn't ready yet to be obvious about it. "Yeah, I guess I'm more tired than I thought. You want to come over and relax with me?" He had a Thelonius Monk CD softly playing the hard swinging improvisational piano jazz of the early fifties.

Feeling like he'd achieved something when she accepted, he decided to just be casual, to go sit down, and let her come in at her own pace. Groaning slightly, he eased himself onto the long, low chaise, but before he could turn to stretch his long legs out, he heard, "Hey, you. Come over here for a minute." Looking up, he found her standing beside the small dining set in the opposite corner of the patio.

Curious, he heaved himself up and moved over to the table, taking a seat as she'd indicated. Doing as he was told, placing his hands on the table, and laying his head, face down, he was immediately rewarded with feeling her hands gently begin a massage on his shoulders, his neck, and the upper part of his back.

For ten minutes, he was ecstatic while her fingers expertly found knots he'd no idea he had, aches that had been part of his everyday life for too long. One by one, she seemed to pick up each hurt and dispose of them, like fuzz balls from a sweater, leaving him feeling smooth and much more comfortable. When she rubbed down his arms and then gently patted him, he raised his head and found her looking into his face with a big smile. "You know, if you'd worn those shoulders any higher you could have used them as ear plugs. Now you can go sit down."

"I don't suppose I could return the favor?"

"What? And ruin my work? Maybe some other time, thank you. Go sit down. Relax."

A while later, Manuela was the first to speak, which was unusual for her. "Horatio?"

"Hmm? Yeah?"

"Did I remember to thank you for saving my life as well as M'Fuan's?"

Smiling, eyes closed, he replied, "Not necessary, Manuela."

"I don't think I've ever had anyone really save my life, before. Claims to the fact a few times, but never for real."

"Part of the hazard of working with the police."

"Ah, is that why they gave me the fancy job title?"

"Yup."

"Seriously, thank you."

"Hmm, who was it that used that phrase recently? How did it go? De nada?"

After a few moments of silence, she spoke again, "You know, you really blew me away with the way you had M'Fuan following you like a puppy this morning. Before you came in, he really didn't want to go; he was afraid he was going to be put in jail. You seem to have quite a gift."

"Well, I guess I feel a special connection with kids that are caught up in bad situations like his, through no fault of their own. Most of them don't understand how these things happen and, the way we raise kids today, they blame themselves when things go wrong, thinking it's their fault. I guess I just sort of put myself on their emotional level so, that way, when they're ready, it's easier for them to reach across to me. I try to give them the time and space to do so, is all. Having been there a couple of times when I was young I..." He stopped not having meant to go that far.

Instead of inquiry, he got a short silence, then a quiet, "Who was it for you?"

Such a simple question that said such a great deal about her. No 'Aww, I'm sorry' or 'Oh-my-god! That's awful!' just, 'Who was it for you?' A knowing, an understanding that could only come from personal experience.

"Father," he answered. "You?"

He almost heard the quick smile she could flash when caught momentarily off guard. "It started with my mother..." The pause was so long the Thelonius Monk CD finished and Dave Brubeck was almost through 'Take Five' before she spoke again. "She had boyfriends."

He let the next track finish before he spoke. "I'm so sorry to hear that."

He had the feeling there was more, as there was to his story, but he knew she was not ready yet. The rest of the evening passed in silence.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimers**: All characters from CSI: Miami are property of CBS. I own nothing connected with CBS or with CSI: Miami, I don't know anyone connected with CBS or with the show. I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

**Title**: Mutual Valor

**Pairing**: Horatio Caine/OC

**Rating**: NC 17 I know, 'M' is an accepted rating, but this is just in case you don't know, this is what 'M' means. This is not only for sexual content, but also for violence and references to sexual child abuse well.

**Spoilers**: There are references to previous episodes through fourth season.

**Challenge**: For you true experts on all CSI: Miami, the J's I use for story breaks, and the Sorority House, are references to one episode in particular. It will be up to you to figure out which episode and why I used the lines of J's.

**Comments**: Both negative and positive comments are always appreciated. I learn from the negative and enjoy the positive.

**Thank you:** Many thanks to my betas, Elena and Tonie. If not for you, this would have been a mess! I am truly grateful for your efforts.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary:** Story: Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued.

Chapter 7: Wolfe investigates the mummy. Duquesne and Delko take on a new case. Manuela brings a new case to Horatio.

Chapter 7:

An hour after Horatio arrived at the lab on Monday morning, Ryan was enthusiastically filling him in on his latest discoveries of the mummy's life, as they strolled down the hallways.

"The guy was the owner of the condo, so it wasn't a body dump, but hardly anyone in the complex even knew him." Disbelief was reflected in the rising timbre of his tenor voice.

"Well, Mr. Wolfe, that's not unusual."

"Even the manager didn't notice that he'd disappeared!" Wolfe protested, as if he did not believe his own findings.

Horatio nodded, waiting patiently for some real information, recognizing that the young man had learned the job, but still needed seasoning to be able to maintain some distance between the cases and his personal feelings.

"The manager said the monthly condo's association fees were paid with the bank's automatic bill-pay service until about four months ago, so he never paid attention to whether the guy was around or not. It wasn't until after fees stopped coming in that he even thought about the last time he'd actually seen him." Annoyance brought Wolfe's finely shaped eyebrows deeper into the bridge of his aquiline nose.

"His bills were paid automatically, then?" That detail interested Horatio.

"At least the association fee was, but then it stopped. The manager was about to file collections papers when agents from the County Treasurer came around. Seems Mel hadn't paid his property tax, either. Together, they figured the property had been abandoned."

"Knowing a property is abandoned and legally declaring it abandoned, Mr. Wolfe, are two different things. It takes time to legally establish a property as abandoned, so I'm assuming no one entered the apartment until they had the legal right?" Horatio knew the answer but asked to be sure that Wolfe was aware of this particular legal procedure.

Raising his hands to his belt to hitch up his light gray Dockers, Ryan's head bobbed around as his gaze dropped to the floor, "Wel-l-l-l, of course, no one is supposed to enter the property until the paperwork on abandonment is processed, but the manager's girlfriend is a realtor and she wanted to get first look, so she got a key from him and went in to sneak a peek about a week after they started the paperwork. That's who found the body."

Wolfe couldn't help but notice that his boss could really get a 'holier-than-thou' look—the chin raised, a steady blue-eyed gaze down his nose—when told about someone bending the law. Wolfe, a stickler for the law as much as any other person subject to Obsessive-Compulsive-Disorder, always tried to lighten up a little. He considered mentioning that this bending had, after all, led to an early discovery in a very serious matter, but knew that would be no excuse to Horatio, for whom the law was the law, period.

Letting the matter of how the law had been circumvented, pass, Horatio quested for more information. "No missing persons reports from friends or relatives?"

"No. Weird, huh? I mean, true, people in Miami come and go for months at a time, but still… The manager thinks that the last time he'd seen him he was taking bags full of personal records to the dumpster over a year ago. He only remembered that because it seemed unusual that the papers weren't shredded like this guy usually did."

"So. At last sighting, Mr. Watson was disposing of whole documents without bothering to shred them first, but was so careful to do it before that the manager recalls the difference. Hmm. Loss of meticulousness. Sometimes, that," Horatio recalled some of his psychology classes, "that could be a sign of depression." He was beginning to feel a personal connection to this strange case.

"But wait, it gets better." Ryan stopped, forcing the hall traffic to veer around the two while he made his point. "The manager also remembers that a month or so after that, a truck from some local charity was at Mel's place for an entire day, loading up. He had asked about it because he thought that maybe the guy was moving.

"And what explanation did the manager receive?"

"Watson told him he was just lightening up; it was like he was just giving away his entire house—clothing, kitchen items, furniture, all sorts of things."

Watching people passing around them, seeing it all, but paying attention only to Wolfe, he asked, "And did the manager have any observations about the man's appearance the last time he saw him?"

Wolfe, always needing to get the details correct, referred to a small notebook he pulled from his jacket pocket. "Yeah, he said the guy looked a little worn and haggard, like he'd been sick."

Gazing thoughtfully at one hand playing with the forefinger of the other, Horatio acknowledged, "Mmm-hmm. A haggard appearance is sometimes an early sign of extreme dieting. The skin loses its color and even starts to sag as the necessary nutrients are depleted. Not eating could be another sign of depression." His hands rose to his hips and his stance widened a step. "Mr. Wolfe, I know you said there were no missing persons reports from family or friends but did you find anything that could lead you to anyone at all? We need to find out as much as possible about this man's social relationships to see if this was the result of any foul play or entirely self inflicted."

"Nothing, Horatio." He thumbed through his notes. "We found only his fingerprints, and a few prints from the Realtor who found him, in the entire condo. There was no paper, no letters, no computer, nothing; and the place was scrubbed clean. Almost looked like the place had never been lived in.

"Hmm, yes, Alexx said the same thing when I asked her to describe the scene. I wonder if he had help erasing any evidence."

"And speaking of Alexx, tox screens came back on the tissue samples that she sent to them; there was nothing but the usual starvation wastes. There was no evidence of drugs, poison, or anything."

"Hm. And no preservatives, no chemical reasons for the lack of decomp." Horatio paused a second, considering all he'd heard about the case so far, and then started to rapidly talk. "Okay, here's what I want you to do: I want you to get hold of the utility records, all of them for at least a year, to see if there was anything unusual there as far as payments or usage. You need to call the manager and find out from which financial institution the automatic payments came, then call the bank for their records to find out why they stopped the bill paying service for the Association fees. You'll also get a time line of his last transactions, when he stopped making them in person. Call the phone company—same thing—for the last numbers he called or received and you'll be able to track them to people who knew him, maybe even doctors."

"I'm on it, H." Wolfe nearly sprinted off, fired up by all the follow-up ideas he'd been handed.

Checking the time, Horatio was about to head down another hallway, but encountered two familiar figures.

"And where are you two off to?" he asked Calleigh and Eric, seeing the large, metal field kits in their hands.

"Got a call out. Car in a canal; blood and bullet casings on the shore. We're guessing that there's probably a dead body in the car, so we're going to stop off and pick up Eric's diving gear. We'll probably call Alexx once we're there. Sounds way too easy, so it'll probably be the hardest case we pick up this month." Calleigh was almost perky, anticipating the possibility of studying more bullets.

Standing behind Calleigh, Eric signaled to Horatio with his dark eyes, pantomiming his amazement at how a seasoned veteran could still get so excited about another case. Shaking his head slightly, he urged, "Come on, let's go. These kits aren't getting any lighter standing here. H, you coming with?"

"Umm, no, I have a staff meeting to attend. I'll try to get to you when I can. Otherwise…"

Delko grinned, "Keep you posted. Yeah, we know."

Smiling complacently, Horatio stood aside to let the pair pass. That made seven cases his team was handling: three homicides, including M'Fuan's mother; the kidnapping, which would be closed soon; the 'mummy,' which was being labeled a questionable death for now; a mini-mart robbery, and now this, which would probably turn out to be at least a homicide and possibly more. He would be adding this last one verbally to the report he had to hand in at the weekly meeting with the chief.

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At the canal, Calleigh was picking up the first of two bullet casings she'd found, and was about to bag it as she called over to Eric, who was taking a shore break in his black wetsuit, "You know what? These are the same caliber as the casings we found at the scene at that mini-mart robbery a couple of days ago."

"Yeah? Let's hope the gun was thrown in the canal or dumped in the car. Maybe I can find it when I go back in."

"Wouldn't that be just too nice of them?" Calleigh's pigtailed hair bounced over her shoulder as her head turned. "There are footprints in the dirt beside the tire tracks here, too. It looks like someone walked up, stood about here for a bit, and then turned around and ran back." Standing up from her squatting position, she continued, "The prints go onto the pavement, so we lose them at that point."

Alexx, standing nearby, shouted over to Eric, "Now, tell me again why I'm waiting for the car to be pulled out of the water?

"I'm sorry, I jumped the gun on calling you, Alexx. I told them to call you when I saw the body, but that was before I took a second look. This part of the canal has a lot of sludge and stuff, a lot of particulates that will stay suspended in water for a while, once disturbed. When they pull the car out, the water's going to get too cloudy to be able to see anything. I need to go down and see if I can spot anything before they pull it out."

"Particulates, huh?" Alexx said, trying to sound unimpressed.

Eric returned her skepticism with a crooked grin, "Yeah, you know, particles that are extremely small, fine—particulates. It's what they're called." He liked teasing Alexx, even if he got snapped at sometimes.

"Okay, if you say so." She crossed her arms, turning away briefly to hide a fond smile, but then, losing patience again, she pleaded, "Hurry, can't you, Baby? I've got two posts to get done before I go home today,"

"You can go. We'll bring him in safe and sound." Eric urged.

"No, I'm here. I might as well wait." Alexx did not particularly want to add that she just plain enjoyed watching the handsome, well-muscled young man in his form-fitting wetsuit, ignoring Calleigh's smile in her direction. She knew her friend laughed at the 'look but don't touch' rule she had with her husband, which each took full advantage of whenever possible. Sometimes, when teased about her proclivity to thoroughly enjoy the sight of good-looking men, she'd say, "I've got a marriage certificate, Honey, not a death certificate."

"We didn't think you'd get here so fast, Alexx." Eric grinned lopsidedly. "Next time we'll take our time about calling you."

"Will you stop jawing and get into the water, child?"

Still grinning, Eric pulled on his hood, "I'm going, I'm going, already."

Fifteen minutes later, he resurfaced with a thumbs-down and then motioned to the tow truck operator to start hauling the car out. The winch squealed.

After a few minutes, heedless of the dripping water and the mud, Alexx was examining the body that was slumped sideways in the front passenger seat. "You were right, Eric, about how dirty the water is, he's already coated in sludge." She shook her head slowly as she peered into the body's face. "Mud bath wasn't quite as exhilarating as you'd hoped, huh, Sugar? Poor thing." She poked about the slumped figure a few minutes. "From what I can see so far, two shots, one to the right side of the throat, a through-and-through, and one to the right temple with no exit wound there. Looks like he was sitting upright in the seat and fell over when shot, but I'll know more at the post. Probably been in the water for twelve to fifteen hours. I'll have to get him back to the morgue and clean him up before I can tell more." She backed out of her crouch and motioned to the waiting body haulers. "Okay boys, you're going to get dirty on this one. Come get him."

Calleigh stared at the ground as she considered what Alexx had said. "So, he was probably shot by someone who was standing outside of the passenger side door, possibly through the window since it looks like it was open already. Hm," she paused, "a through-and-through to the throat means we probably have a bullet inside the car besides one still in the body. Two bullets will mean a better chance of identifying the weapon." Flashing a smile, she announced, "I like that."

Eric, pulling off a flipper, called over, "What about the driver? Think he got out, walked all the way around the car, and shot the guy? That doesn't seem right."

"No, I don't think so." She brushed back a stray lock of hair that had fallen into her eyes. "The gravel on the other side of where the car was parked is deeper, so it doesn't show the footprints. It does, however, show blood, and I'm seeing gravitational droplets indicating someone going away from the car. Over here, on the passenger side, where there's more dirt to show footprints, it doesn't seem like anyone came from around that side of the car."

"More like," she backed up a couple of paces, thinking out loud, "walking up to the passenger side of the car from the opposite direction," she took two steps forward, pointed a finger miming a gun in her hand, "bang, bang, and then, turning back," she spun a one-eighty, "and running away. Hmm, but the vic has two gunshot wounds," speaking as she acted out, she turned back and looked around, "so, where does the blood on the ground come from? From the other guy, the driver? Maybe he was shot before getting into the car? Drove here, wounded?" She stared into space a moment, absently tucking the straying curl back into the elastic band. "I guess it could have happened."

Shrugging, she turned back to Eric, "We'll have to hope the car has some blood trace left besides the missing bullet. Whatever the case, at this point, I'm guessing it was the driver, bleeding, who's the source of the gravitational drops."

Alexx interrupted, returning from having made sure the body was safely on its way. "OK, I'm ready to go. I'll have more on the number of wounds and the angle of entry, maybe by tomorrow if no one else gets killed today." She didn't sound terribly optimistic; Miami was a busy city in more ways than one.

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Late in the afternoon, Calleigh was looking at the diagram she'd made of the crime scene and comparing it to the evidence spread out on the table when Delko came in with a 'look' on his face. Calleigh always knew that when his chin was lowered with a slack-jawed smile, and his beautiful brown eyes were gazing up, practically through his eyebrows, that something was up. Since he stood, just looking at her and not speaking, she felt compelled to prompt, "What?"

"You're never going to believe this. I did a prelim on the car from the canal, right? Knowing you'd want it, I looked for the bullet that went through the guy's throat. It's not there." He waved a hand to cut off her reply, "Yeah, I figured every angle possible. I checked the floorboards, both seats, sides, the backs of the seats, the driver's side door, everywhere. I thought that maybe the guy was shot from the waist—that the bullet went straight through the throat and out the driver's side window except for one thing—"

Calleigh finished the sentence, "The driver's side window was up, yeah I remember that. Only the passenger window was open. So, do you think the driver may have been shot with the through-and-through from the guy's neck?" Her green eyes widened as her face broke into a joyful grin. "That would explain the blood on the ground, wouldn't it?"

Delko smiled as much in appreciation of Calleigh's beauty as for reaching a conclusion similar to his own. "And, since the throat is soft tissue, the bullet would maintain enough velocity to still do damage at close range. Of course, we won't know anything for sure until we get Alexx's report on the angle of trajectory, but even so, we'd better issue a bulletin to emergency rooms to be on the lookout."

"You want to do that while I start cleaning up here? Oh, and thanks for thinking about looking for the bullet. Let's finish up, find Ryan, and go get a burger and a beer. I hear he's got an interesting case."

"Good. I'll check and see if anyone else is up. I saw Delmontes a bit ago. I'll see if H is around, too."

"The more the merrier."

But Horatio was not around. Two hours earlier, he had received a call from Manuela, who was at a hospital. "CPS called me a while ago about a child abuse case. Horatio, I think you'd better come and see," Manuela said in a strained voice.

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At first, when he saw the girl through a gap in the curtains, Horatio thought he'd been called on a wild goose chase because she looked to be a small young woman, perhaps twenty or twenty-one, who could have passed for sixteen. Sitting on the examining table with her head down, she had a hardened look that bespoke experiences best left unsaid, so typical of prostitutes, but then, as she lifted her head slightly, he suddenly realized that she was perhaps thirteen or even less. 'Oh, no,' he groaned inwardly, 'not another one. Not another child rape!' Yet, he realized, this was different because a child so young, yet so hardened, was almost unheard of in America. What, he wondered, had happened?

Remaining outside of the curtained area, unseen by the child, Horatio gently called, "Manuela?"

The sound of his voice, soft as it was, made the child jump as if a shot had been fired; the paper gown covering her rustled audibly, so violent was her start. Manuela appeared in his view and took the quaking form into her arms, hugging and shushing, reminding her that she was okay, that she was in a safe place and that no one was going to hurt her again.

Not hurt her again? He wondered if the SART nurse had already taken a rape kit, done a blood exam, all of the small and less-hurtful-than-rape hurts that had to be done. He only hoped Manuela's reassurances were true.

Manuela came to the gap in the curtains and stood so that she could be seen by the victim, but still speak to Horatio.

"I'm so sorry if I upset her, Manuela."

She shook her head. "It can't be helped. Thanks for coming." She looked over her shoulder at the child and tried to smile encouragingly. "We're waiting for the nurse to come back with some of the results."

"Okay, tell me about this. Was she raped?"

"Worse. Far worse."

Observing that the permed, blond haired figure showed no signs of physical violence, no bruising or swelling, and about to ask what she meant, he looked down to see that Manuela was close to tears. "Hey, it's getting to you, whatever it is, but I can't help if you don't tell me what this is about," he said, his head tilting, a concerned look for her in his blue eyes.

Speaking quietly, Manuela filled him in on what she had learned from the girl so far. "I think she's in a sort of… well, a system—a practice—very common in Asia, Europe, and South America. Young girls, even as young as eight or nine, have long been used for the sexual pleasure by men who can pay the price. Now, it seems, they're doing it in this country. Girls like her are taught, forced, to have sex with men."

"We've dealt with men who have kidnapped a child and allow other men to use her."

Manuela shook her head. "These are like prostitution houses, only all children, all under the age of sixteen or seventeen." Manuela swallowed with difficulty, her voice faltered. "Her description is pretty clear."

Horatio's face went blank as he tried to comprehend what Manuela was saying.

"I'm thinking that many of the girls who are abducted are ending up in these places, now. I was—they used to be taken to foreign countries, but now…

"Yes, I know that some kidnapping victims are taken to foreign countries for sexual abuse, but I didn't know it was happening here." He was desperately trying to contain the rage that was welling up. "Why do you think this isn't an isolated case?"

Looking to one side, back at the child, and back to Horatio, Mannie didn't seem to know where to put her eyes for any length of time. "Because I was—I just think it is." She shook her head as if trying to clear it, "Just things I've heard about this sort of thing, you know?" She gave Horatio a hard, desperate look. "Something has to be done!"

"We'll look into the idea, I promise. But, for now, I think we need to find the rest of the girls she lived with. How was she found? Where was she?"

"She was at a bus stop. From what she says, the driver who was taking her home was angry about something, and he just stopped the car, picked her up from the back seat, put her on the bench, and left her there. Someone at the stop called 9-1-1. The man was described as a chauffer. Paramedics said she was barefoot and in some sort of see-through shorty-nighty. That was at ten this morning."

Lips curled back in a snarl, his hands on hips, Horatio whispered, "And, of course, there are no witnesses left, because by the time the paramedics arrived, they had all caught their bus." Glancing thoughtfully at the little girl, he continued, "Hmm, I'll bet, if the man was a chauffeur, he's currently unemployed, too. Either he was told to drop the child off as his last duty, which made him mad enough to abandon the child, or he was fired afterwards because he didn't deliver the goods." His thumb absently stroked at his bottom lip. "So, we'll be looking for an unemployed chauffeur who thinks nothing of dropping off naked little girls in public. Unfortunately, that's not enough information to go on."

Putting her hand on his arm, Manuela looked like she didn't really want to continue, but she did anyway. "There is something else you should know. Her physical exam showed signs of severe sexual abuse as recently as a few hours before she was picked up. She was bleeding when they brought her in."

Horatio flinched as if struck with a blow; it just kept getting worse and worse. In an effort to keep his mind on the purpose for being here he simply replied, "No doubt there will be blood in the car as well as on the chauffeur if he carried her as she says."

A nurse came up and whispered very urgently into Manuela's ear. The two women seemed to hold on to one other for a moment, each in need of support, as Manuela's face blanched to the color of plumber's putty. When the nurse went into the examining area, Manuela slowly walked over to one the chairs lining the wall across from the curtain opening and sat so that she could keep an eye on the girl who was now talking with the nurse.

Sitting beside her, Horatio braced himself for whatever bad news she'd heard.

"The nurse just got the results from the tests. Horatio, that child is pregnant." Wrapping her arms around herself, she bent over, put her head down into her lap, and softly moaned.

The two sat quietly for nearly half an hour; Horatio thinking dark thoughts of what he would like to do to the creatures who could so terribly hurt children, while Manuela, in complete empathy with the child on the exam table, mourned this little girl's loss of innocence, and the loss of her childhood.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimers**: All characters from CSI: Miami are property of CBS. I own nothing connected with CBS or with CSI: Miami, I don't know anyone connected with CBS or with the show. I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

**Title**: Mutual Valor

**Pairing**: Horatio Caine/OC

**Rating**: NC 17 I know, 'M' is an accepted rating, but this is just in case you don't know, this is what 'M' means. This is not only for sexual content, but also for violence and references to sexual child abuse well.

**Spoilers**: There are references to previous episodes through fourth season.

**Challenge**: For you true experts on all CSI: Miami, the J's I use for story breaks, and the Sorority House, are references to one episode in particular. It will be up to you to figure out which episode and why I used the lines of J's.

**Comments**: Both negative and positive comments are always appreciated. I learn from the negative and enjoy the positive.

**Thank you:** Many thanks to my betas, Elena and Tonie. If not for you, this would have been a mess! I am truly grateful for your efforts.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary:** Story: Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued.

Chapter 8: The child reveals as much as she is able. Manuela reveals part of her past to Horatio.

Chapter 8:

Because of her traumatized condition, Horatio was unable to question the little girl until the day after she'd been found, late in the afternoon, and, when he had been able to see her, it was to little avail. According to her, she lived in a house with some other girls, but never having learned to count, or perhaps forgotten how, she only knew that there were more girls than fingers but less than one set of toes extra. She didn't even know all of their names because they came and went, and sometimes didn't come back, then were shortly replaced by someone new.

There were no windows where she lived, and she couldn't think of any sounds or smells that could give him a clue as to location. The only detail that did catch Horatio's attention was her comment that her house was inside a bigger house. She would be taken, she said, from the house where she lived, outside into the bigger house, where she was put into a van. She recounted being able look at her house, seeing it all the way up to the roof, and then being able to see the roof of the outer house high above that. Try as he might, he could not gain any other information, nor could he make anything from it—yet.

Usually taken in a windowless van to the homes of the men she serviced, there were sometimes one or more other girls with her. They would usually get out of the van inside a garage, so again, she had no information about where they were taken. When the person she visited brought her or sent her back in a car, she was usually too sleepy, or too 'hurting' to do more than just lie on the back seat: she never paid attention to the scenery. Sometimes the visits to these men lasted for several days.

Her descriptions of her training were bone chilling, making her visits sound almost mundane. Every day, she was forced to have sexual relations with one or more adult men. Refusing, or as they told her, 'acting like a baby,' only meant brutal force, followed by being tied and gagged, so they wouldn't have to hear her crying, and being put into a small, smelly cupboard, for hours, even days, without food. Horatio, from years of experience as a cop on the beat in New York, and then from his years with CSI, had heard similar stories, but never anything worse.

During the questioning, he saw that both the agent from Child Protective Services and Manuela were troubled as they listened, and hearing their quiet gasps and even moans at the terrible revelations made him envy them. He wished he could stop forcing this dear little girl into revealing the information he so desperately needed but, at the same time, he knew it was of the utmost importance to not reflect the angst of the victim, to keep himself calm, to think in terms of an investigator collecting evidence, which was hard to do. He wanted to react—to cry with her, to hug this poor child, to roar his rage against it all—but for now he had to let others do it for him.

When another CPS agent showed up for the evening shift, he decided he was finished. He thanked the child, told her she had done very well and that everything would be better soon, then motioned to Manuela to come out into the hallway with him, leaving the nurse and the agent with her.

"I need to go back to the lab and turn this information over to my team so they can get started on sorting it out, then I'm going to go on home. Will I see you there?"

Slowly shaking her head, her eyes unfocused, as if at a loss for words, Manuela paused before answering. "Uh, I don't know, maybe, I...I think so."

Horatio, suddenly concerned, examined her face. "Hey! What's going on? Are you going to be okay to drive? Maybe I should take you home first."

"No, I'm okay." She tried to reach out to him, perhaps in reassurance, but missed, stumbling sideways.

Catching her before she fell, he took her elbow and directed her to a chair in the hallway. Then he flagged an orderly passing by and asked the young woman to please step into the room and collect Manuela's purse and briefcase.

The CPS agent followed the orderly out, and Horatio informed her that he and Ms. de la Rojas would be leaving for the day. Seeing Manuela sitting numbly, not speaking for herself, he added, "I'm sure she'll call you," but internally, he wondered when the call might actually be made. Something about this case was affecting her deeply, almost to the point of incapacitating her, but he sensed she was not likely to share the reasons.

He didn't have to fight much to get her into the Hummer, once he'd explained that as a police officer, he'd deemed her unfit to drive and would arrest her if she tried. She only countered once, weakly arguing his lack of evidence, which he overrode citing "trained observation," and, with assurances that he would be bringing her back to her car as early in the morning as she wished, she finally acquiesced.

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Giving the information he'd heard to his team at the lab, discussing it with them, did not provide much hope that something new might be gleaned.

"Well," encouraged Horatio, "think about it and maybe something will come to you by morning." He caught a sight of Delko's furrowed brow. "Eric? A question?"

Delko shook his head. "Probably nothing. For some reason, what she said about her house being inside a bigger house…" He shook his head again.

Ryan, leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded, chimed in, "Do you think she means she comes up from a basement? Maybe she looks up to the ceiling above a trap door?"

Considering his work partner's words for a few seconds, Delko finally shook his head again and then shrugged his shoulders. Looking over at his boss, smiling, he said. "Thanks, H, I'll be thinking about this all night, now."

Returning the smile with a nod, his eyes twinkling, Horatio replied, "I'm sure I'll appreciate your efforts."

By the time he returned home, a couple of hours had passed since dropping Manuela off, and his first thought was to see how she was doing. Not bothering to even remove his jacket, he stepped onto the balcony and found the gate was closed, which perplexed him because he'd expected, for some reason, find it standing open. Peering through the latticework, he could just make out the light from next door and saw the curtains lazily stirring through the open patio entrance, which brought the conclusion that she was still at home. Standing quietly, wondering what his next step should be, he heard an unusual sound.

Using concern as an excuse, taking a chance on invading her privacy, he worked the gate latch and found that the door easily swung open. Since the muted light from the condo dimly illuminated the outdoor area, he could see her plainly, still in her work clothes; green slacks and lime-green blouse, though she was without shoes, sitting on the concrete, with her back against the outer patio wall, legs drawn up, and her head down.

The sound was her noisy gasps for air and then high pitched, unintelligible, fluttering words that raced each other to be heard, until her breath ran out, then a quick inhale before the sighing monolog started again, one hand gesturing quickly side to side, the other remaining tightly clenched at her knee.

Going to her and sitting beside her, reaching around her shoulders in a hug, he was shocked by her alarmed jolt as she struggled away, turning onto her knees, scuttling sideways, nearly screaming, "No! Don't!"

A few feet away she stopped in a crouch, and then looked at him as if coming to realize who he was, but still carrying a wild look in her eyes. A second later, she jumped to her feet, rubbing her hand through her hair, the look of fright changing to one of hauteur.

Horatio was reminded of the way a cat behaves when startled, who faults the other for coming in unannounced. He rose slowly, carefully to his feet, making no sudden moves. "I'm so sorry I alarmed you."

"I–I didn't hear you."

"Manuela, what's wrong?" He asked cautiously, not moving, knowing she would bolt at the least gesture right now. "How can I help?"

"No, Horatio. You can't help."

He could tell she was trying her best to sound calmly reasonable. "I could listen."

"I'm sorry, but no, I'm not ready. It's all right, really. It's just all that we heard, today. Sad, you know?" Lower teeth biting her upper lip, she looked out at the rising moon trailing a bright path to the shore.

He shook his head slowly, in doubt as he tried to figure out what was going on. After a moment, he cocked his head to one side, remembering a couple of slips of the tongue she'd made the day before and put them together with what she had already said about her own childhood. "You know, personally, about what she's been through, don't you?"

Her gasping sob went through him like a cold spear, and putting her hand to her forehead, she choked out, "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

Seeing her start to sway, he spoke softly, as gently as he knew how, "Manuela, come here. Please, at least, come closer. I promise I won't touch you." He held his hands out from his sides, rigid and still, hoping she would see. "Come," he invited. "Tell me about it, please."

Slowly turning, bringing both arms up to her chest, wrapping one hand inside the other, she bowed her head low and seemed to come to a decision. One step, and then another brought her close enough so that the top of her head was almost touching the lapel of his jacket and for a long moment she just stood. When she finally started speaking, it was quietly, as if to herself.

"I think I said something about my Mom and her boyfriends… well, there was a bit more to it." She sighed heavily. Horatio had to strain to hear as her voice faltered, struggled, and started again. "Mom's boyfriends started having sex with me when I was about nine. Mom, she turned a blind eye." Again, she sighed, more raggedly than before, and the words tumbled out faster. "I mean, she was on drugs and out of it most of the time, so that's no wonder. Then, when I was twelve, I actually thought I'd fallen in love with one of them, an older guy, you know, father figure and all. I ran away with him." A mirthless laugh. "And then, he sold me to a. . ." She hesitated, "I was. . ." Another pause before she shouted, "No!" Turning away, she looked up to the night sky before continuing in a more reasonable tone, "No, I just can't, I just don't want to go into it all, not yet, but… I... yes, I know what that child has been through, Horatio, I know!" She fell silent for a few minutes, standing alone, her hands folded under her chin. Finally, shuddering and taking a deep breath, she moaned, softly at first, but it grew into wail of grief as she turned back to him. "Oh, Horatio! That poor child!" She leaned into the lapel of his jacket and started to cry loudly.

The urge to hold her, to protect her, washed over him as he fought his arms, willing, demanding them to stay at his sides. Prone to action, Horatio felt helpless, knowing that not hugging her was the only way to make her feel safe right now.

As he looked around, trying to think of some way to help, his tendency always to be on watch alerted him to reactions of neighbors and even some people on the walk below. They'd heard Manuela's lament and, naturally, being concerned, were making comments like, "What's that about?" and even a, "Do you think we should call the police?" so he realized he'd better do something before all hell broke loose. Of course, he was acquainted with the uniforms on the local beat, but he decided, this would not be a good time to get together with them.

"Manuela. Manuela! My friend, Sweetheart." he whispered into her ear, " Listen to me. Listen! We need to go inside now. Please! Let's go inside."

Apparently hearing, she kept her face buried in his jacket, still crying, and started moving. Turning with her, using just the inside of his arm, laying it across her back, he walked her towards the door. Once into her living room, since they were already moving, he urged her to continue to her bedroom and finally stood with her by the bed. Holding her now, his arms wrapped gently around her, his head placed softly on hers, he rocked from side to side. "Sh-sh, there, there," he repeated over and over. After a few minutes, the crying gasps slowed to whimpers, and, a moment later, to silence.

She turned her face, red, and wet, to look up at him. "Oh, Horatio. What are we going to do?"

"Right now, about the child," hearing his own voice break, "nothing." Using the palm of his hand, he gently wiped her cheek. "Right now, it's you I'm worried about." Then, smiling reassuringly at her, he quietly asked, "You trust me, right? You know I won't hurt you, and will do nothing you don't want me to do, right?"

The look on her face, through the tears, reminded him slightly of Suzie on that day he'd offered his help to her. When he told Suzie he would be providing financial support to her and his brother Ray's out-of-wedlock child, Madison, she got the same look, showing that she understood, that she knew there would be no stopping his generosity.

As he waited for the answer, Manuela looked searchingly at him, the way she had done the very first time they had shaken hands more than four months earlier.

"Why? What...?"

"I was thinking I would like to help you as you helped me, just a couple of days ago. Only," he added quickly, "fully clothed and on top of the covers."

A shadow of doubt rippled its way across her forehead.

"Allow me to carry some of that awful burden , just for a moment, just me, being here for you, nothing else," he said softly.

Seeing her processing the idea, he continued, "You did that for me and I can't express how much help it was. I just want to do the same for you, now, if you'll let me." His voice had fallen to a reassuring whisper.

Again that Suzie look, gratefulness, acceptance, knowledge that the offer came from his heart.

"I'll leave as soon as you've fallen asleep, I promise." And he did.

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When she was pulled out of sleep by the chattering DJ on her clock radio, Mannie wondered why she felt so comfortable, emotionally, as well as physically. The physical comfort was not all that unusual these past few years, but the emotional comfort certainly was. She lay still, trying to analyze what was going on, a habit developed from her years of therapy, when suddenly, realizing she was still dressed in yesterday's clothing, last night's events came to her. Sitting up with a start, she looked about wildly and was relieved to find herself alone. Hurriedly checking her clothing, she found them terribly rumpled from sleeping in them all night, but completely intact.

Thinking of the night before, she remembered him sitting on the bed beside her, making little reassuring sounds, encouraging her to lie down, to rest, and then he had joined her. He had been so respectful that she hadn't felt the least qualm about what was, for her, a remarkable thing, allowing herself to be in bed with a man, after all these years! But a man who didn't pull her into him, didn't fondle her; who had only compassionately held her.

Recalling what her state of mind had been last night—confused, roiling with those god-awful memories brought up by Horatio's interview, the memories she thought were locked away, visited only in her nightmares—it was no wonder she had let it happen.

Another thought came to her as she glanced quickly at the clock before reaching for the phone. "Horatio? What time are you leaving? I'm okay, I guess, I just woke up. What time were you leaving this morning? Okay. See you in the hallway?"

While showering, she recalled trying to pull herself together the previous afternoon after Horatio had dropped her off; she'd tried screaming into a pillow and then screaming again and yet again, even roaring and shouting; then, walking in a large circle several times around her front room; shadow boxing, trying to punch the demons into oblivion; finally going outside for some air, hoping that the sight of the endless ocean horizon would do something, anything; finding that nothing seemed to work. She remembered finally sinking to the patio floor, moaning in defeat, hugging herself, rambling disjointedly—as she might to her therapist—mired in memories.

The talking hadn't done any good, had turned into a babbling diatribe, and suddenly, she was being attacked! Only, it turned out to be Horatio, looking alarmed and apologetic. Not wanting him to see her so vulnerable, so weak, she had tried to pull herself together, to hide her distress, but he had already known, had seen, had guessed, had wanted to talk. Talk! She'd been doing that for over an hour! Then he proved he knew about her, or at least, suspected something. There he was, being so kind and, after all, he did deserve some explanation.

She had tried to explain but finally, hadn't known what else to say, having revealed as much as she could, hoping she would never have to say anything more, ever, thinking if she did she'd probably go all crazy again, so she just shut down. Then, she'd started thinking about what that poor little girl had been through, and, being too close to her own pain, she'd truly lost it.

After her shower, pulling on clean clothing, running a hand through her cropped hair she almost smiled, imagining how Horatio must have panicked at what the neighbors must have thought of her wailing. If she'd been sane, no doubt she would have had similar fears, but by then she was so far into her lament she wasn't really conscious of what was going on, nor had she much cared at the time. How long, she wondered, had she gone on like that? She only sort of remembered being so kindly, so earnestly, hustled indoors at some point.

And then she was looking up into that really nice face of his, feeling his arms around her, and feeling so… vague, drained and, now that she thought about it, comfortable. She remembered him saying he wanted to help her, knowing it wasn't a suggestion but clearly a thing already decided. And then, there she was, spooned against him, feeling his quiet baritone rumbling into her hair, through her back, bathing her, permeating her being, soothing her. Quite, quite extraordinary.

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Meeting in the hallway, their greeting was a silent one; he looked at her with an inquiring lift to his eyebrows and she almost smiled, barely nodding her head in return.

In the elevator, she turned and said politely, "Horatio? Last night? Thank you."

Staring at the number pads, watching them light up and go dark, smiling softly, he replied, "De nada."

He thought about last night, as he had been all morning, about lying with her in the dark, his lips buried in her soft, short hair, feeling her against him, feeling her breathing, and how he had decided that he, personally, would see to it that no one would ever hurt this lady again. Standing beside her now, he renewed the decision.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimers**: All characters from CSI: Miami are property of CBS. I own nothing connected with CBS or with CSI: Miami, I don't know anyone connected with CBS or with the show. I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

**Title**: Mutual Valor

**Pairing**: Horatio Caine/OC

**Rating**: NC 17 I know, 'M' is an accepted rating, but this is just in case you don't know, this is what 'M' means. This is not only for sexual content, but also for violence and references to sexual child abuse well.

**Spoilers**: There are references to previous episodes through fourth season.

**Challenge**: For you true experts on all CSI: Miami, the J's I use for story breaks, and the Sorority House, are references to one episode in particular. It will be up to you to figure out which episode and why I used the lines of J's.

**Comments**: Both negative and positive comments are always appreciated. I learn from the negative and enjoy the positive.

**Thank you:** Many thanks to my betas, Elena and Tonie. If not for you, this would have been a mess! I am truly grateful for your efforts.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary:** Story: Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued.

Chapter 9: Viola has more information, which may lead to her abusers. Manuela has made a promise in order to get what she wants.

Chapter 9:

The first message at the lab was exactly the kind of news he did not want to deal with; A CPS agent had called to say that the little girl in the hospital was remembering more of the car ride that had left her at the bus stop.

He would have to go, but, damn it! This case had him feeling like a bear being held back from his first spring meal. He needed more information, but he hated the idea of making the kid revisit her nightmare, hated that he had to be party to her plight.

Then, the fact that he still had to deal with incoming information on the other cases, all of which needed attention, his analysis and go ahead, which took his focus off of this case, the one case he wished he could work on exclusively, only served to raise his level of frustration. He did not even consider that part of his personal life, last night with Manuela, which he'd automatically locked off the moment the elevator door opened onto the lab floor. This was one of those days when he yearned to find Rick Stetler, take him to the custodial closet, and pound the hell out of him, simply to relieve some tension. There was no reason at the moment to pick on Stetler but that's why it would be so satisfying. Briefly closing his eyes, he let the feeling go and grabbed the rest of his messages.

Moments later, he was checking in on an equally dispirited Ryan Wolfe. Wolfe, he knew, was a man who wanted the action of doing tests and getting answers, wanted to slap a thing into the centrifuge and go on to get results from something else. He also knew that this morning the young man was stuck with going over records, sorting, stacking, finding a time line, copying numbers and names of callers from the phone lists, which, obviously, was not much action. So, recognizing Wolfe's hungers and his own personal experience of the frustration of duty conflicting with desires, Horatio sympathized with him. "Mr. Wolfe? Have you come up with anything, yet?"

Staunchly covering up his aggravation, Ryan reported his findings. "Most of our mummy's bills were paid up to four months ago with his bank's automatic bill pay service. The only ones not paid automatically were due annually, and I guess he intended to take care of them as they arose."

"Thus the Property Tax problem, which would have been due, if Alexx's TOD is correct, as he lay dying. Correct?"

"Yeah, and the bank, under the bill pay directive, just kept shelling out the dough until his account ran out, which took about nine months from his last personal transaction, when he withdrew cash from an ATM. That makes it thirteen months between the cash withdrawal and the time he was found."

"So, he'd been dead several months before he was found." Turning his head sideway, Horatio pulled his gaze up from the floor and inquired, "And the phone records? What about them?"

"The last call was an incoming and at about the same time as his last bank transaction. He made no calls out in the previous three months. In fact, his last call out was to a Help Line, sixteen months ago. I've talked with them and they told me that, according to the record, he said he was a little depressed and wanted to talk, but the person who took the call couldn't get much response out of him, even after an hour. Nothing much was said, blah, blah and there was no mention of suicide and no mention of him feeling threatened. According to their records, that was the only call he'd ever made to them."

"And what about the other incoming calls? Any family members?" After taking a brief look at the stacks of papers on the display table, he turned to lean against it.

Copying his boss' pose, but crossing one leg over the other in counterpoint to the other's wide stance, Ryan answered, "No one with the last name of Watson is recorded." One of his hands strayed to the back of his neck as he swung his head around, trying to rub away the stiffness caused by examining records since yesterday. "I've tried every number on the list so far, and either there's no answer or the numbers have been disconnected or they don't know a Watson, meaning the number has changed owners. I'll keep trying on the ones that didn't answer. I haven't even started looking at the patterns of the utility bills, but that's my next step." Ryan tried not to look discouraged, and sighed.

Pushing off from the table and walking through the door, Horatio nodded over his shoulder and said, "Good work. Keep me posted."

In his office, Horatio found the file of the disastrous kidnapping case on his desk. Just what he did not need! He especially did not need it today! He grabbed the folder and thrust it at the bottom of a pile on the nearby bookcase. Each in its own time, but not today! He dealt with the messages he'd picked up, stuffing most of them into the drawer, and left as quickly as he could.

"Calleigh, anything on the canal case?"

"We have the driver in custody. The first bullet that went through the dead guy's throat hit the other guy in the shoulder as he sat in the driver's seat. Thank goodness," she stopped herself, "well, maybe not for our guy, but good for us, anyway, most ERs are so backed up that our guy was still there yesterday evening, waiting for a prescription, when they got our bulletin. He's being brought over from holding, now. The hospital is sending the bullet to us by separate courier.

"Oh! And more good news; the one bullet Alexx recovered from the body in the car matches a bullet used in a robbery-homicide at a mini-mart more than four years ago as well as the one we recovered from the mini-mart robbery a few days ago. In the four-year-old case, one guy was caught but the other one got away." Calleigh was really on a roll, now, much to Horatio's enjoyment. "Now the interesting thing on that is the other guy wasn't caught, because the quality of the store's security tape was so poor he couldn't be ID'd and, of course, his accomplice wouldn't give him up. There was blood trace at that scene, but nothing to match it to."

Horatio had long ago found he did not have to toss questions to Calleigh to get information out of her; she was not only thoroughly efficient, but seemed to enjoy verbalizing her reports.

"Well, it just so happens that I was talking with Cooper the other day, and he reminded me that today's technology is substantially superior to that of just a couple years ago, that he can now pull images from old tapes and clean them up enough to get ID. So, today, I went to the archives and pulled the tape from that old case so, we might just get a solve on a four-year old cold case." She smiled the Cheshire Cat grin she got when things were going her way.

Leaning against the doorframe, his thumb hooked into his belt, the other hand wrapped around his holster, Horatio relaxed a bit. "You ready to take over the department for me?"

Calleigh blinked her eyes slowly and deliberately. "Not on your life." Then she flashed her good ol' Southern girl grin, knowing her boss had just paid her a huge compliment. "Oh, and Eric is still down in the shop going over the car, looking for any blood trace and anything else he can find." She was putting the cherry on top of the icing on her finely made cake and she knew it.

Heaving himself upright, silently thanking his lucky stars for his team, Horatio checked his watch. "Good job, Calleigh. I'll be out and about for a while. Call me when you've interviewed the gun shot wound."

"Will!" She threw back.

In the Hummer, on the way to the hospital, Horatio made the call he didn't want to make. "Manuela?"

The sound of reluctance in her voice was hard to take; he could hear her trying to think up reasons not to meet him at the hospital. He wanted to say, 'Not to worry, I can handle it.' He wanted to tell her he wouldn't subject her to listening again to the monstrosity this child has been through, to reliving her own personal hell, but he knew he couldn't. Part of her job was to be there and part of his job was to inform her, to keep her in the loop. Breaking contact, he wanted to toss the offensive instrument out the window. '_Damn! Where was Stetler just now?_' The phone ended up on the passenger seat.

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This time, sitting in bed, her face clean and rosy, her wavy hair encircling her face, she looked even younger than her thirteen years. A CPS agent sat with her, apparently having made a connection, with a sheltering arm around her shoulder, and was holding one hand.

As Horatio introduced himself to the temporary guardian, watching the child shrink into the crook of the woman's arm, Manuela arrived. The two women briefly exchanged information before turning to the quietly standing lieutenant. The agent, who only introduced herself as Sally, disengaged from the child's hold, stood and pulled the two aside, speaking quietly and firmly. "I understand the importance of this, but can this be the last time at least for a while? When I told her I'd called you, she cried for half an hour."

He knew he wasn't going to like this. Playing with the earpieces of the sunglasses he held, he dropped his chin, as if to observe the floor. "I'm sorry, but I cannot guarantee that. It's possible we'll be able to apprehend some people and rescue the other children with the information she remembers today, but that's not entirely likely. But let's see what I can learn for now, all right? Later, if we can somehow get her to remember more..." He stopped, knowing he was sounding more like a monster rather than just truthful.

Getting no response from either woman, he turned his attention to the little girl. Pulling a chair up to the bedside, he smiled and quietly said, "Hi, there, remember me? I'm Horatio and I talked to you yesterday."

She looked to be on the verge of tears, her lower lip crinkling, but she nodded slowly. Sally returned to sit beside her, drawing the child close under a sheltering arm.

Manuela moved to the foot of the bed, her hands on the railing for support, ready for the onslaught of her demons. Immediately picking up on Horatio's change of manner, how his voice raised half and octave, softened, became almost plaintive, how his head dropped to one side, how his entire character changed as it had for M'Fuan, she decided to concentrate on that, in hopes of using that bouquet of kindness as a buffer for today's revelations.

"Good," Horatio continued, "I'm glad you remember. You know what? I was very rude yesterday and I forgot to ask you your name. Can you tell me your name?" He knew that getting her to start simply would make the hard parts just a little easier.

"Viola," she said quietly.

"Viola. That," he said with a brief pause, "is a really beautiful name." He hesitated again, choosing his words carefully. "Viola, you know I'm a policeman, right?" At her slow nod, he continued. "Well, did you know that my job is to catch the bad people who have been hurting you? I am going to catch them and take them away and put them someplace where they can never hurt you again."

He waited while her face showed just a slight bit of interest. "Now, the only problem is, I don't know where to find them, so I'm going to need your help." At her obvious dismay, he hurried on. "I was told that you remembered something about the car yesterday, and also have a way of describing the man who drove it. Could you tell me?"

The poor little thing looked up at her protector with a 'do I have to' look. The woman gave her a hug and a kiss on the forehead. "You're so good about remembering, my pequeño, and you were so cute. Please, tell him so I can giggle again."

With that irresistible urging Viola shyly said, "I called the man that drove the car 'ol' stinky head'. When he picked me up and carried me to the car, I smelled that his head smelled partly like the icky meat we sometimes have to eat and partly like the stuff they put in our milk, when we've been really good."

Sally giggled appropriately and then added quietly, "I think she means vanilla and perhaps lard that has gone bad."

Considering what Viola had said, Horatio asked, "Was this 'old stinky head' a very old man?" He knew that some very traditional, elderly Hispanics still used lard as pomade for the hair and neglected to throw it out when it went bad, preferring to get as much use from every bit as possible. He also knew these same men sometimes used vanilla as after-shave.

Nodding gravely, she answered, "Older even than the ones I have to visit all the time."

"Was he a bad man, Viola? Was he one that hurt you?"

She slowly shook her head, "No, he was nice."

Horatio and Sally exchanged glances in silent agreement. "Okay, good. That tells me a lot, Viola. And now, what about the car? What did you remember about the car? Yesterday, you said it was black and had a soft fur blanket in the back seat. I thought that was really something, remembering like that."

"I remember there was a thingy, on the back of the car, that had a man on a bucking horse. I liked it."

"The license plate, you mean?"

She shied back as if afraid. "I don't know what you mean."

Horatio smiled gently, "That's the thingy on the back. Did you see any writing on it? Any numbers?"

She relaxed a little but rolling eyes and shrugging shoulders was her only answer.

Looking briefly at Sally he had to say, "Well, maybe you'll remember later. But, wow, remembering a man on a bucking horse, that's terrific, isn't it?"

"Uh-huh. And there was a lion too. Standing up and going –," she made clawing motions with both her hands and twisted her face in imitation of an animal roar.

Horatio smiled broadly, rare for him. "That was above the lic—, the thingy with the bucking horse, right? Sort of in a box, I bet. The lion, was it about this big?" First, he formed a shape with both hands about two inches square before making a smaller square, "Or was it this big, do you think?"

Viola was calmer now and shrugged again. "I dunno."

"You know what, sweetheart? Now I have to ask you a really hard question. The man you were visiting, can you remember anything about his face that was..." He paused trying to think of the right word. "Nice?"

Viola's face quieted to a sad, distant gaze.

This was so hard. "Try not to think about what—what he did to you. Try to think about only what you saw the first second, that first time he came into the room." He wanted to be specific, to ask if he had any scars or if his eyebrows were thick like his own, or noticeably thin, but he knew that there was always the possibility of leading her so he could only hope. "Just that first second you saw him, do you remember what you thought?"

That was the wrong thing to say, and Viola's face began to crumple up. Horatio put a hand on the bed but did not touch her. "You are so brave, my dear, so brave. Just take your time. That first second." he confided quietly, "try to remember." Then he sat back and waited.

After what seemed like the entire day, Viola's face opened up, her eyes growing large. "He had big ears." And with that, she shrank back under Sally's arm, hiding her face against the woman's body. She was done.

Manuela's voice, quietly explicit, sounded from the foot of the bed, "Horatio, we're finished."

Turning just enough to acknowledge that he heard, he came back to the child and, leaned forward, whispering, so only she could hear. Getting only the slightest nod in response, he rose from the bedside, thanked Sally, and left with Manuela.

On the short walk to the elevator, Manuela said, "As her lawyer, I have to know what you said to her."

Not speaking until they were alone, headed down. "I told her I was leaving to get the bad guys now and was going to find her friends and save them. Then I asked if she heard me."

Making that promise just now had felt so damned good, especially since, with the information she had provided, he was fairly certain he could carry through on it.

Taking in the information and swallowing dryly, Manuela looked up to his boyishly pleased face. "Do me a favor? When you are ready to go to the house, when you find it, call me. I want to be there as you go in."

"I'm afraid I can't..."

She interrupted him. "I need to be there!"

"I can't let you be there, Manuela."

"Please, Horatio. I need to be there!"

"It will be dangerous, even for trained people..."

Again, she interrupted him. "Tonight Horatio, whatever time you get home, call me. I need to tell you the rest of the story, about what happened to me. I'm pretty sure it will change your mind about my going to that house." The words came tumbling out of her, and then slowed. "You need to know why those children will need someone like me, there."

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As soon as he prowled out of the elevator at the lab, everyone could tell that Lieutenant Caine was on a mission. He had that way of moving, like a Florida panther on the hunt, walking with a deliberate, loose-shouldered swing that was all business. Even his eyes had that same feline glow, as if lit from inside. Those who knew him knew it was unwise to stop him in this phase, not even to announce to him that the world was ending.

"Mr. Wolfe, I know you're busy with a couple of other cases, but I need you to get on something else, right away. I want you to see if there is any way to find a black Peugeot, four-door sedan with Wyoming license plates here in Miami. I'm guessing it's a rather new model, but check back as far as you can, anyway. Whatever you find, then check license photos, look for a man with large ears. I suggest you first do a search first in the state of Wyoming and then see if there is anyone who may have recently moved here or perhaps vacations here. I also want you to see if there is any way you can track down an elderly man who ordinarily works as a chauffeur. I know this is very little information, but it's vital that we find either the chauffeur or the owner of the Peugeot. As soon as you have something, find me!"

Before Ryan could even acknowledge the assignment just shot-gunned at him from the door, his boss was gone. He sat for a moment, replaying what he had just heard in his head so he wouldn't forget, absorbing and changing gears. Here he had been waiting to tell Horatio what he had found on the mummy case—'_oh well_'.

Horatio found Calleigh in her section of the lab, a couple of machines whirring in the background as she peered through a microscope. "Calleigh, what's the good word?"

She grinned at him, raising her eyes up to the ceiling and then down in her typical 'ordering of information' look. "Well," only people born and raised in the Deep South can drawl out a single word as she did. "First of all, Delko did not find any usable trace from the car. Between the water and the sludge, nothing was left. He says he went over it twice." She shrugged.

"But the driver, Victor Ayala, was brought in," she said as her smile broadened. "And we were able to convince him of the wisdom of giving up his attacker, or well, we urged him, but he was more than ready. Apparently the through-and-through hitting this guy was an accident and ordinarily, as you know, these gang members usually just sort of take that kind of thing in stride, but the problem was, our dead guy had AIDS, which Alexx has confirmed; not just HIV-positive, full blown AIDS. If he hadn't had AIDS, all would have been cool but as it is, our guy really resents the carelessness."

"Did he say why he and his companion were targeted by his own gang members?"

"Oh, the vic, a Cristobal Dejenez, hadn't followed orders on the job they'd pulled, or some such. So the gang leader met them at the canal to issue a reprimand. It was a macho-boss-gang thing, I guess." She shrugged again.

Horatio nodded, "Well, however we can get them, I'll take it."

"It seems the shooter may even be a tie-in to that case the bullet connection pulled up. This guy is now a local leader in the 14th Street Boyz, according to our witness, who just returned to Miami after a stay of nearly four years in Los Angeles."

"You think he might be the other one the guy wouldn't give up four years ago?"

"Well, we have that blood trace from the scene, so we'll get a DNA sample as soon as we get this guy in and compare it. Who knows, maybe Dan will have something from that tape." She smiled confidently.

"I have no doubt you'll find him, Calleigh. Good work. Call me when you have his location?"

"You got it!"

"Oh, um, be ready to be called out on special detail at any moment. We're on to something and will probably need the entire department soon."

"What's it about?"

"Just be ready, all right?"

"Sure."

Horatio went over to the DNA lab. "Valera, did you get the swab for DNA test from the hospital yesterday for Viola?"

"Yeah. Do we have anything to match it to? I didn't come up with anything in CODIS."

"Not yet, but hang on to it. I'm going to be working on getting a sample for a match. Thanks."

Maxine eyes widened just slightly as she was about to answer, but he had already wheeled about and left before she could get anything out. "O-o-o-kay, then, I'll hang on to it," she muttered to herself.

At a slightly slower pace, he checked in with Sam Delmontes, Cooper, and finally, in the mid-afternoon, Delko, who was finishing cleaning up after having crawled around the canal car for most of the day.

"You heard? I came up with nothing. I'm sorry, H."

"Yes, Calleigh told me. Not to worry. It happens, sometimes."

"Yeah, well, I'll keep looking. I just looked for trace in the front, nowhere else. Next, I'll go over the rest of it for whatever can be found. Right now, though, I'm out of here. I've got some personal business to attend to and then a date, tonight."

"I'll walk out with you. I'm going to head home, too."

"What—you? So soon? You got a date too, H?"

Horatio stroked the skin beneath his lower lip as his tongue played at the inside. "Uh, well, sort of."

A broad smile played at Eric's expressive lips. "Good going! You deserve some relaxation."

The two walked down the hallway in silence until they parted for their cars in the garage, and Delko waved over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimers**: All characters from CSI: Miami are property of CBS. I own nothing connected with CBS or with CSI: Miami, I don't know anyone connected with CBS or with the show. I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

**Title**: Mutual Valor

**Pairing**: Horatio Caine/OC

**Rating**: NC 17 I know, 'M' is an accepted rating, but this is just in case you don't know, this is what 'M' means. This is not only for sexual content, but also for violence and references to sexual child abuse well.

**Spoilers**: There are references to previous episodes through fourth season.

**Challenge**: For you true experts on all CSI: Miami, the J's I use for story breaks, and the Sorority House, are references to one episode in particular. It will be up to you to figure out which episode and why I used the lines of J's.

**Comments**: Both negative and positive comments are always appreciated. I learn from the negative and enjoy the positive.

**Thank you:** Many thanks to my betas, Elena and Tonie. If not for you, this would have been a mess! I am truly grateful for your efforts.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary:** Story: Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued.

Chapter 10: Manuela reveals her past.

Chapter 10:

When Horatio called next door, he wasn't surprised that he didn't get an answer; he had always suspected Manuela worked beyond normal hours, as he did. Leaving a message on her machine inviting her to come over when she was ready, he busied himself with the seldom attended to odds and ends of keeping house, giving him time to wonder just what the rest of Manuela's story might be.

As usual, he cautioned himself about falling for her story hook, line, and sinker. Officer of the Court she might be, agent of CPS, yes, but that did not exclude her from being subject to fantasies of drama and trauma. She'd said the girls would 'need someone like her' to be with them as they were rescued, and that sounded very much like dramatization to him.

From time to time, he'd dealt with the phenomenon of people who, for whatever reason, felt they had to live their lives as dramatically as the soap operas on television. Some played up their dramas, some just made them up. He had to consider those possibilities every day, with every person he dealt with on the job. The question to be considered now was whether Manuela was somehow reacting to his meltdown the other day, coupled with what she'd been hearing from Viola? Sometimes, people who saw other people going through traumatic experiences felt the need to become the center of their own drama, in hopes of receiving the solicitations, the attention they saw accorded to others.

He stopped, reminding himself that he might very well be jumping to conclusions, making up tales as well. He had no reason to think Manuela was a drama queen. '_And,_' a little voice whispered, '_no reason not to_.' Well, he would listen to the story and would know what to do when it was finished. He already knew something was different about her, that there was more to her story than she'd told, but jumping to conclusions now was premature.

By the time she pulled open the gate two hours later, Horatio was sitting on the patio, watching the dark purpling haze creep up from the east as it chased away the light of the setting sun.

After they exchanged pleasantries, even though he gestured to the lounge beside his, she remained standing, her arms clasped under her breasts, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. Running out of small talk, after a moment's hush, Manuela asked, "Horatio, could we do this inside? I'd rather be sitting up, facing you."

"Sure." He was up and holding back the sheers from the open patio door practically before she'd finished her sentence.

A few minutes later, supplied with an iced glass of his favorite herbal tea blend of orange and hibiscus, she'd seated herself on the single casual chair near the couch. She was perched on the edge of the cushion, back straight, knees together, her hands flat on her thighs. Setting his own glass of tea on the table in front of the couch, taking a place near her, he leaned back. Above them, two ceiling fans whirred quietly.

Manuela took a deep breath. "Horatio, first I want to thank you again for caring. Last night was...was good. I appreciate what you did." She smiled nervously and swallowed. "I know I've been a little mysterious about myself, but it's just that, well, it's not that I don't think it's any of your business, it's just... it's not something I talk about, much. Even though, for the most part, through therapy, I've dealt with my life fairly well, it... sometimes, it just comes back and zaps me and yesterday, with Viola, was a pretty heavy hit." Her weak smile reflected her feelings of helplessness against these ghosts.

Horatio studied the glistening beads of moisture on the glass of tea in front of him, remembering how it could be at times, being battered with things that came up from the past. His eyebrows knitting his forehead together, he nodded slightly.

"I started to tell you about some of the stuff, but maybe the rest of it will tell you why I really should be present when you first find those kids." Her brow folded as she looked for the strength to continue. "I said before that I thought I had fallen in love with one of Mom's pimps, that's what he was, not a boyfriend..." She hesitated, shifting in the chair, uncomfortable with the subject. "Anyway, the next thing I knew he was telling me about needing to go home for a little bit, to Brazil, and wanting to take me with him." She smiled and shook her head. "Mom thought it would be an adventure for her little girl, even signed papers for travel permits, and off we went. So, he took me to Brazil, Brasilia to be exact." She leaned forward a bit, one hand rapidly tapping lightly at her thigh as she spoke.

"I guess he sold me, or something, I'm not sure. Anyway, the next thing I knew, I was living at a house that specialized in—" As she spoke her eyes found the memory and locked in, seeing nothing of the present moment. "—in providing little girls to wealthy men, for pleasure. It was exactly the same as Viola has so far described. She and I could be the same girl.

"I stayed with maybe six other girls, all of us held captive. First, I was, trained, the same way Viola described, for four days. That is to say, five men alternated raping me nearly round the clock. One man showed me where to put my hands on him, how to behave when I was with him, and when I didn't understand he'd hit me on the back of my head with his hand, hard enough to make my teeth rattle. The others didn't bother with showing me anything, they just..." Briefly observing her quiet audience, her gaze touched his, before she looked away again.

"After the basic training, I was taken to the room where the other girls stayed, and that's where I lived for the next five years. I left only when I was out on calls. The one man, who showed me what I was expected to do, continued the training whenever I wasn't...otherwise occupied. Anyway, I had to maintain a regular clientele, please the men I was sent to so they'd want me back, to earn my food. I was fed by the number of hours I spent with clients. It got so my specialty was comforting stressed out men. They even called me "the little comfort pillow."

Suddenly, seeing the context of what Manuela had done for him a few brief nights ago, Horatio's breath caught in his throat as he realized how enormous the cost to her must have been. Gone was the dispassionate witness, the suspended belief; no one could make this up.

She looked so small, almost frail, and he could see she was trembling like an aspen leaf. Horatio thought he detected a sort of grunt or a huff and saw a flash of a derisive smile cross her face. "I even got pretty good at it after a while—I hardly saw my trainer at times because I was so busy—I got enough to eat, even to share. That was after I got tied up with my mouth taped and put into a closet for a day or two at a time for not cooperating. Of course, there were times they did that to me anyway. I got the idea it was a-just-because-we-can-do-it, sort of thing. Always when I least expected it, too." The look in her eyes showed desperation mixed with fear.

Listening to her speak now, there were no doubts she had lived this horror. This was no dramatization, no play for his sympathy, it was her being witness to the unspeakable. He could tell it was as hard for her to talk about, as it was hard for him to listen.

"I lasted longer than a lot of girls because I looked very young, and they do like them young in those circles." She shook her head ruefully. "I was also pretty healthy. We all got infections at one time and another from the physical damage done internally and—and a lot of the kids I was with died horribly from those infections. I was lucky only in that I lived through the infections I got." She didn't look like she felt lucky.

"By the time I was seventeen, I'd probably been with hundreds of men. By then, though, I was a washed-up old hag. I had fewer and fewer clients and even though I tried to make myself useful by taking care of the younger girls, they finally just threw me out on the streets. No warning, just took me by the arm one day and shoved me out the door, naked! 'Course, I'd lived naked for most of the time there anyway." She looked up from her memories, as if only now realizing she was trying to tell a story, giving an apologetic smile. "Anyway, I didn't know my way around or what to do. I had never been outside on my own, didn't really know the language. Portuguese is the national language and all I had ever learned in Portuguese, were sexual body parts and phrases that pertained to, well, you can guess. I managed to steal a dress, but in a couple of days, I was arrested for begging and then deported. I was an undesirable alien."

Trying to grasp the atrocious degradation that she had been through, wanting to know how she had come to be the person he saw sitting here now, he encouraged, "And then?"

She looked up above his head with a tight smile, "How'd I get from whore to lawyer?"

Before he could object, she shook her head slightly. "'s'okay. Long story short, when I got here, I was sent to a shelter; they helped find my mother, who happened to be at another shelter. The people who ran my shelter actually believed my story and I got loads of counseling. Eventually I got my GED, went to work, went to college, where I took pre-law, and psych. I even got a scholarship." An embarrassed smile passed over her face. "Seems I'm of above average intelligence." Her voice became a little louder as she started playing with her fingernails. "Still, even on an accelerated schedule, college took five years because Mom was in and out of different rehabs. That's why she was at a shelter, the drugs, you know. They kept trying to find something that would work for her. Then I went to work for a law firm as a clerk for a while, after I got my degree. Mom died somewhere during that mess. Poor dear." Her eyes teared up for a moment, though the trembling had settled to a slight tremor. "Went to law school, passed the bar, worked for my old firm for five years, and the rest as they say..."

Both sat in silence for a time. Horatio was stunned not only by her history but also by how she had been able to deal with it. The significance of it all in relation to their personal association thus far was mind blowing.

"Horatio, do you see why I have to be there when you find that house, when you find those girls? Not only will they need immediate legal representation but, well, no offense, you and any officers with you will scare those girls spitless. You'll need help and I'll know how to be of help, I'll know what will need to be done to bring them through the rescue in something like one piece."

Horatio had to shift gears from his personal reaction to the original purpose of being made privy to the information. She was right, of course. Officially, the job of the police was to apprehend the criminals, with the only consideration to the victim being that of physical safety. For the sake of the girls, Manuela's presence, with her understanding, would be essential. But at what point could she come in? The problem was that Manuela was not a police officer, had no training, and would be an encumbrance to a rescue operation.

After a few minutes of thought, seeing that she was tired, he leaned forward onto his elbows, using his hands to emphasize his words, as he said, "I agree, you need to be there, Manuela, but your safety is of first importance. At the moment, I have no idea how the operation is going to go down or how you could fit in or when, but, I promise, you will be there with us." He had a thought. "You know what, though? I think I'll need your help beforehand. When I get enough information on the location, I'm going to need to have some idea of how it operates, how many people we'll encounter, where the girls might be located within the house, and so on. I'm going to need you as we start putting things into action."

His hand went to his lower lip while his eyes roamed back and forth across the coffee table as he considered his next words, until he finally nodded to himself. "After we go in, we will have to have paramedics ready to administer immediate aid to the children, then transport them to hospitals, and you can at least be with them, all right? For now, though, can you be available at any time to tell what you know about that sort of place? What the team might encounter?"

Sounding relieved, Manuela said, "Of course. Just call me. Viola will be pleased to see her friends again."

"The girls will probably be taken to separate hospitals, Manuela. Dividing them up, from the start, will keep their testimony straight. If we have them together they might start to contaminate each other's stories and that could kill us in court."

"Oh Horatio. You have no idea how reliant on each other these kids are. Separating them would probably cause trauma so serious that court appearance would be impossible. That's partly why Viola is so afraid of you, even as gentle and kind as you have been with her." Manuela reached out to touch his wrist. "In her world she has been safe from harm only when she was with the other girls. That isn't what was meant to happen, but that's how it works. Her recovery and theirs will be dependent on first reuniting them. We'll worry about separating them later, but for now, please—please plan on keeping them together."

Taking in the information, he nodded his agreement, his hands hanging limply from his wrists, he turned his head without raising it to look at Manuela, a sympathetic smile on his lips. "I understand. All right, I think we can arrange that." He paused, continuing his smiling gaze before adding, "Thank you."

Manuela sensed he was thanking her not only for agreeing freely to share her information but also for taking him into her confidence, for sharing her past, for her willingness to tread the path of painful memories. He was also acknowledging that he, now, understood what it had cost her to help him in the way she did, as he'd probably guessed, the only way she knew how. This gave her pause to wonder why she had done it and she quickly concluded that it was because he, himself, was very much worth it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimers**: All characters from CSI: Miami are property of CBS. I own nothing connected with CBS or with CSI: Miami, I don't know anyone connected with CBS or with the show. I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

**Title**: Mutual Valor

**Pairing**: Horatio Caine/OC

**Rating**: NC 17 I know, 'M' is an accepted rating, but this is just in case you don't know, this is what 'M' means. This is not only for sexual content, but also for violence and references to sexual child abuse well.

**Spoilers**: There are references to previous episodes through fourth season.

**Challenge**: For you true experts on all CSI: Miami, the J's I use for story breaks, and the Sorority House, are references to one episode in particular. It will be up to you to figure out which episode and why I used the lines of J's.

**Comments**: Both negative and positive comments are always appreciated. I learn from the negative and enjoy the positive.

**Thank you:** Many thanks to my betas, Elena and Tonie. If not for you, this would have been a mess! I am truly grateful for your efforts.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary:** Story: Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued.

Chapter 11: Horatio gets the clue he needs. The raid.

Chapter 11:

First thing in the morning, coming from the elevator, Horatio saw that both Ryan and Calleigh were on a collision course with him from two different directions. Of course, both started talking at once, stopped, and started again until the look on Horatio's face stopped them entirely. Since each had separate business with him, Calleigh's seniority put her first.

"I just heard from the District Attorney's office. They want us to hold off on arresting the guy who shot our canal vics. Haffman says they've been after the 14th Street Boyz' weapons cache for over a year. Since I've proven the gun that was used for this crime was hidden for four years, he says that means our guy is directly connected to the cache, which means the amount of firearms outweighs just taking one more gang member off the streets. He also says he wants to find this person and track him until he leads us to the place where the guns are kept." Her eyes seemed to sparkle in anticipation.

Horatio's hands flew to his hips, his eyebrows shot up and, as he did when agitated, he started talking to the floor. "When he says 'he' wants to find this person that means 'we' find this person and 'we' track him. You know that, don't you? Our manpower, our time."

Calleigh heard an edge in his tone he seldom used with his personal team members. She straightened her back, looked over at Ryan and back to Horatio, smiling up at his face. "Hey, we can handle it, you know that." She fluttered a hand in casual dismissal. "We've never been overloaded yet and this little thing isn't going to do it. I think it just makes this case more interesting." Being cute and blond, having a killer smile, and being right, all worked as usual; she saw Horatio's face relax a little.

"You'll be taking over the department, when?" He'd been appeased, and there was even something of a shine of admiration in his eyes.

She cocked an eyebrow into a mischievous look, "About the twelfth of never," and slowly stepped aside for Wolfe.

"Horatio, I got a hit on that search you had me do."

This was what he needed to hear. "Good work, Ryan! What have you got?"

"The license plate search in the Wyoming database revealed that in the last ten years only twelve Peugeots have been registered in that state. From there, it was easy to get drivers' licenses and from the photo IDs, I got three that sort of matched what you said about the ears. I called each one and, of those three, one, a Casper resident, is currently here in Miami, so I talked with a housekeeper but she didn't know where this guy stays when he's in Miami. I asked her what he did here but she wasn't very forthcoming."

"Did you find out where he is, Mr. Wolfe? I need to know where he is!" Horatio's urgent tones betrayed, his excitement.

"Ah, here's where I had to think. This one is a newer car and a luxury model, at that. That thing costs over fifty K! So of course the company wants to make sure the car is running well and keeps track of their clients so they can schedule maintenance." He almost paused for effect, but he could see his boss was running out of patience. "So, I called the American office for Peugeot and found his last scheduled maintenance was done at their dealership here in Miami. I called this dealership and they had his Bal Harbor address. Here." He handed the paper over to Horatio and watched as the man wheeled about and nearly ran to the elevator, pulling the phone from his pocket as he went. "Um, I guess I don't need to add I didn't find anything on the chauffeur?" He said this last partly to himself and partly to Calleigh.

Smiling in sympathy, she explained, "Always give the bad news to Horatio first, Ryan, otherwise you'll never get it out."

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Followed by a squad car and Frank Tripp, Horatio was murderously calm by the time he arrived at the address Ryan had handed him. It was a modest mansion of merely five thousand square feet, with a private slip large enough for a fifty-foot yacht. He instructed the uniform that had accompanied Frank to stay at the front, and the other two to drive around to the delivery alley in the back, while he and Frank then buzzed the front gate.

Inside, the two were kept waiting for nearly half an hour, which, by the standards of the rich or the political, was not too bad, according to Horatio's experience. They were finally greeted by the owner of the Peugeot, Howard Kern, a tall, almost spare man, in his early sixties, who, if not for his large fleshy ears, would have been considered, by most, to be good-looking.

Horatio and Frank had their cover story down pat, since their first aim was to find the chauffeur. First, inquiring if the driver was around, told he'd quit suddenly the day before, they inquired as to his present whereabouts, saying they had reason to suspect him of a crime. Kern started out by saying he had fired Torquemada for being argumentative and failing to make an important delivery, not mentioning, of course, the nature of the delivery. After going on at some length about the unreliability of the "local Spanish help," he finally provided them with the man's name, cell phone number, and what he thought might be his home address. They thanked Kern and left.

Frank exploded, outside at the cars. "I wanted to bust that guy's face in! Why not arrest him?"

"In due time Frank, in due time. I'm fairly certain this guy doesn't know the address of where his "pleasures" came from. He's the type who doesn't inquire about such trivialities, he just gets what he wants. To arrest him now might mean losing the case on him and we need to find the girls first and, to do that, we need to get to that driver. Rest assured, we'll soon be dealing with Mr. Kern." Horatio settled his dark glasses over his eyes. "We have a witness ready to testify."

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On the way to Alvaro Torquemada's address, Horatio put in a call to their audiovisual expert at the lab, to give Dan Cooper the cell phone number, he knew he would hear back before he arrived. As expected, Cooper returned the call after ten minutes and not only had verified the address but also corroborated that the phone was at that address, having called and held a meaningless conversation until electronics traced the location.

Alvaro was easy to find and, much to Frank's disgust, gave up without a fuss. Sure enough, the elderly man smelled of old lard and vanilla. This was enough to take him to the department for questioning.

Basically, an uncomplicated man, the chauffeur had been, at first, unaware of the use his employer had for the quiet little girls he picked up and returned, every couple of weeks. In broken English, Alvaro explained he'd had to call a different phone number each time to receive route and timing instructions, although the location was always the same, a warehouse in the port district. Each time he called, he was told from how to approach the warehouse, from which direction, and at what time. He'd drive into the warehouse, the child was deposited into the back seat, and he'd return to his employer's residence. When returning to the house, he'd park the car in the attached garage, with instructions to leave the child and to 'go about his business.' The employer would tell him when it was time to return her, and he'd follow the same procedure in reverse. Thus, he seldom actually noticed the child he carried.

This last time, however, for whatever reason, Kern had simply told Alvaro to get the girl from the entry hall in the house, put her in the car, and take her back. Seeing her skimpy attire, asking her a few questions, he realized the awful thing he'd been party to. Not liking his boss anyway, and since he was considering leaving the temporary job as it was, he'd simply dumped the child where she would be found, brought the car back to his boss, handed over his keys, and quit. He was greatly relieved to give up the address of the warehouse he had frequently visited.

Within minutes of concluding the interview, Torquemada's description having cleared up many things, Horatio was on the phone to all concerned parties, including Manuela.

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Five hours later, a council of war was being held in a large PD conference room where large monitors displayed maps and routes to the warehouse. A surveillance helicopter with cameras, as well as heat sensors, was always feeding information, continuously updating the displays.

"Ladies and gentlemen, here is the situation as we currently understand it." Horatio stood in front of the largest display monitor showing a map around their target. "Our primary is a group of approximately twelve to fifteen girls, aged about nine to perhaps fourteen. I wish I could be more precise for you, but our information is not exact.

"They are kept in a substructure within this warehouse, basically a box within a box. The heat sensors indicate there is approximately a twenty-foot perimeter around the substructure holding what we think are cartons of supplies. There are three large bay doors, one per side of the target warehouse." He pointed out the fact that two of the bay doors could be approached from only two directions each but the third was faced by a long boulevard leading directly out from it as well as a cross street in front. Additionally, there was also a fourth entry, a street door.

"There may be surveillance cameras on the streets so our approach will have to be covert until we are ready for entry. We have no idea how many men are in that warehouse, nor do we know if they are armed, so the plan, ladies and gentlemen, will be to blitz the place with an armored SWAT vehicle."

After outlining the procedures they were all to follow, the logistics of the operation, which was the easy part, he began the hard part, explaining what to do with the girls once their captors were taken into custody.

"These children have been so mistreated we have no idea what their emotional condition might be. They will not, I repeat, not, look at you as rescuers; some will undoubtedly try to hide from you or even possibly try to escape. When you find even a single girl, you will not touch her, but you'll set up a guard team, both to prevent her escape and the captors from reaching her." He briefly looked to Manuela and saw her slight nod in agreement.

"At no time are you to touch these children; men are not their friends and trying to remove them will only make matters worse for them. As for you female officers, I'm sorry, but dressed as you are, you will look too much like a man, especially to a panicking child; you are not to touch the children, either. Even if a child is injured, you are to wait for the medical rescue team. This team, by the way, will be all women."

"This is going to be hard, folks. We are going in to rescue the children, but we can't touch them, not even to remove them to safety, so we are to concentrate on taking their captors, making the area safe for them. There are going to be a lot of us creating havoc around a very delicate primary, so please think about every action."

He had purposely refrained from warning the team against bringing any harm to the loathsome criminals that were holding the children. He couldn't urge them to stomp the vermin into the ground, but he wouldn't tell them not to, especially when he wasn't sure what his own reactions were going to be.

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About ten o'clock that night, everybody confirmed they were in place around the warehouse. Twenty medical rescue personnel, plus Manuela, in seven medical vehicles, were on side streets, scheduled to come in last; five unmarked cars with ten heavily armed officers who were to cover exits, were ready to move at the signal; finally, five armored squad cars, an addition to the MDPD since nine-eleven, a heavily armored truck packed with fourteen SWAT members, and two CSI Hummers with six officers were also in place.

At this point, the SWAT team leader took over. As soon as he heard the last team radio in to confirm position, he gave the signal to go, setting the rescue operation in motion.

From three blocks away, on a wide, deserted boulevard—the one approach that was straight into the warehouse—the driver floored the armored vehicle. Built along the lines of a bank truck, powered by an engine that was barely a step down from a jet, its wheels noisily laid a rubber trail. Fifteen seconds after the drag-race scream of tires, the truck rammed through the bay door and ten seconds after that, four of the SWAT team had two men on the ground, weapons aimed at their heads, and nine more had made sure the two other bay doors were secure while one stood point. This brought in the second wave of officers, four of whom yanked the two men to their feet, cuffed them, and hauled them out.

Twenty seconds after the door was down, Horatio, Delko, Wolfe, and two CSI's from the night shift, entered the warehouse, guns drawn. Already, two SWAT members had battered down the locked door to the central structure and entered with the rest of the elite team following behind. The smaller structure, the house, had thin walls and only sheets of plywood laid over supports as a covering, so the yells of the men and the screams of children could be plainly heard echoing against the metal roof overhead.

Just before Horatio reached the splintered door to the house, he heard the unmistakable sound of a man running. "Delko! Wolfe! One's coming out! Don't let him reach the bay door! Get him!"

Three guns swiveled to the house door and tracked.

Bursting out over the remains of the door, as he came up against two guns pointed at his eyes, the man skidded to a stop just in time to feel a third gun nudge his ear. From behind gun number three came a voice with a tone he would never forget; if death itself could speak, it would sound like Horatio's thick snarl telling him, "Get down on the ground now. I want you face down, arms stretched out above your head." The man dropped hard and put his face down so quickly he bashed his nose.

Waiting for the man to be removed by officers gave Delko a chance to take a look around, and he was astounded by the similarity between the setup he was looking at and one he had seen about three years before involving a so-called Sorority House, a house built within a warehouse. Only then, the girls had been of age, and not captive by any means. Seeing this, he made a mental note to look into any of the possible connections.

The trio continued into the house through a hallway so narrow, Delko had to turn slightly sideways to avoid scraping his broad shoulders on the walls. The first two rooms they encountered, one on either side of the hall, were empty, but one glance told them what they were used for. Each eight by eight cell held only a block of foam on the floor, slightly larger than a single bed, rudely covered over with a mattress pad, and a wrinkled sheet on top of that, all of which had what looked like brown splotches interspersed among many other lighter stains. Both rooms had several piles of more soiled sheets.

The house itself was a square within a square, the inner one, a large single room, was where the girls were apparently kept. Coming upon that room, Horatio saw that three of the walls were lined with six, triple-tiered, metal slat beds, the bottom tier of which was literally on the floor. None of the top tiers of the beds showed occupancy, being without mattresses, and were apparently used for storage, if the open cardboard boxes on them were any indication. The beds had only crumpled sheets and miserable little pillows on wafer thin mattresses. Two more mattresses, hardly wider than a child's torso, lay in the center of the barely forty foot square floor.

In that room, as instructed, two SWAT officers, stood at the door, one facing inward, the other out. Inside, nine naked children, most of whom were wailing loudly, sat grouped together on the two mattresses on the floor.

Looking over the shoulders of the two men, Horatio, quickly noted the fourteen beds, and if one was Viola's, he hoped that would mean thirteen girls kept in the house at max. Nine were in here, so, there were four more to find, but one or more might be out 'on call.' '_Damn! But this was not going to be easy_.'

Standing in a doorway directly across the hall from the girls' room, an officer was facing outward, staring at his spread feet, another screaming child, cowering in the doorless bathroom behind him. That made ten children found.

Child number eleven was in the middle of a standoff situation. One of the captors, a man in his thirties with dark brown, curly hair, was crouched on another filthy mattress in one of the rooms, his back against a wall, holding a knife to the throat of the little girl he had in front of him. Facing him were three SWAT officers, rifles aimed and behind them were two uniforms with drawn pistols. The girl was being used as a shield, held in such a way, as the man swung her from side to side, that none of these men had a clear shot.

Out in the hallway, hidden from the man's sight by the partially closed door but with a view through the hinged side, Horatio quickly assessed the scene. The man was screaming to let him go, threatening to cut the child and one of the SWAT officers was shouting for the man to release her and lay the knife down. The girl, her solemn face showing no emotion, was quiet, arms tossing about as if boneless, allowing herself to be manipulated like an inanimate doll.

Simultaneously, the knife moved, the child shrieked, and Horatio, aiming through the crack that gave him the only clear shot, fired his pistol.

A second later, Horatio, holstering his gun and shouting, "No! Oh, no, sweetheart, no!" ran into the room, shoved the SWAT team members aside, scooped the bleeding child from in front of the now crumpled man, and ran with her in his arms out of the door. Seeing Wolfe and Delko to his left, who had been behind him in the hallway, he raced right, yelling, "Get out of the way! I'm coming through," and, "Medic," as he thundered through the halls and out the battered entry.

The SWAT team leader had already alerted the medical team, which had rolled to the scene as soon as all of the police had reached their positions. A gurney was ready in the warehouse rubble as Horatio erupted out of the house doorway, and a doctor grabbed the moaning child from his arms, laid her on the bed, and started immediately administrating aide in tandem with an assistant.

Panting from his efforts, watchful of the child's care, Horatio was catching his breath when he saw both Manuela and Calleigh coming towards him from the bay door entry. They had been standing by, ready to start their jobs. Calleigh, who would be collecting any physical samples from the girls, and then evidence from the warehouse and substructure, was helping Manuela maneuver through the damage.

Manuela, seeing the child being taken care of, turned to him, "My God! You have blood all over you. Are you okay?"

He had to stop and think—had he been shot at? He shook his head, "No! I'm okay. It's from the child. One of those shit-bastards slit her throat!"

"Was that the shot I heard?"

As his breathing slowed, Horatio nodded in response to Calleigh's question. Then, realizing where he was, he instructed, "Manuela, get ready to come in; there are at least ten girls in there. They're protected, right now, but I think there are more. As soon as we've cleared the scene, gotten all of those...men out of there, I'll give the signal."

Calleigh and Manuela watched after him until he disappeared back inside, looked at each other, and then over at the bleeding child. Seeing how dangerous the situation was, both were anxious for Horatio, but Calleigh was also envious of the action, and Manuela felt concern about how he might be handling it all.

Hearing commotion from the other side of the building, Horatio wound his way through the hallways, his gun drawn, until he reached the hall near the front entrance. There, he encountered two SWAT officers bravely trying to follow orders to not touch the children and yet keep a screaming, scrabbling girl between them from getting around their legs. They were both facing her, tracking her efforts to dodge around their boots, dancing clumsily from side to side and countering most of her moves, but occasionally, one had to bend down to use a hand to stop her head from squeezing past a knee or ankle. She was mostly on all fours, making little whining sounds between the screams, as she ran back and forth trying to find a way out.

Beyond, at the front entry that had been set up like a grand foyer, his hands up in a defensive posture, a man, dressed in a suit and tie, was crouched on the floor surrounded by four SWAT members, rifles aimed at his head.

One of the men trying to keep the child corralled shouted to the Lieutenant, "He was trying to take this one out the front way. We got him just in time."

Seeing the incident was well in hand, Horatio holstered his pistol and stood by while the officers arrested the man.

Several minutes later, after the man in the foyer had been taken outside under custody, Horatio was stooping in the hallway, peering between the other SWAT member's legs, who, he suddenly realized , was a woman. He shifted to a squatting position, to get a better view of the child, which put his head just about level with the woman's rear end; he hoped she was either unaware of this or that they would be able to laugh about it later.

By this time, the naked child, who was probably not more than eleven years old, was crouching tensely, knees drawn under her, face down between the two SWAT members, obviously terrified out of her mind and exhausted by her efforts. Her back, rippled by a show of ribs as well as her spine, heaved from the exertions.

Horatio wanted to get the hallway clear and, so, needed to get her moved. Knowing it was too early to bring in the medical team, he realized he'd have to, once again, violate his own directives he called out as gently as he could. "Hey, sweetheart? Can you hear me? My name is Horatio, and I'm here to help you. I know your friend, Viola. Did you know she's safe, now?" His voice changed to a softer, gentler pitch that he hoped was just loud enough for her to hear. "I'm a police officer and these people are, too. We're all here to help you just like we helped Viola." He paused, watching for any reaction, but there was none. "I know, we're making an awful lot of noise and being scary but, say, I bet you'd like to join the other girls in the bedroom—they're all safe in there. Would you like me to take you there? It's just around the corner, a really short way."

Would she believe him? Would she ever be able to listen to a man's voice without shuddering? Her head moved just the slightest iota.

Standing, he whispered quietly in the SWAT member's ear. He got a nod and a quiet reply and, when he hunkered down again, thought he saw another head movement. "You know what, sweetheart? The officer on this side is a lady. Officer Williams? Would you say hello?"

"Hi. My name is Carlotta. Would you come to me? I'll help you," she offered in a warm contralto voice.

Another head movement, this time a quick look at the black boots near her head followed before she returned her face to the floor.

"I know, I'm dressed really awful. You poor angel." Without urging, the woman knelt at the child's side. "Please, little darlin', come on; the floor's all nasty and cold." Turning to Horatio with an inquiring look, and getting a nod in response, she plucked gently on the girl's shoulders, pulling her up.

Horatio stood as the woman knelt, ready to block any exit attempt, but there was none. The child listlessly allowed herself to be raised to her feet and guided down the hallway; she had given up all hope. Sending up a silent prayer that these damages could eventually be repaired, he drew his gun again and resumed the hunt.

Ten minutes more of searching, opening what cupboards had doors, and peering under piles of sheets revealed no more occupants, an "all clear" was declared.

Standing at the door to the house, Horatio first radioed the SWAT leader to signal the medical team to enter the house, before calling Frank, who had been put in charge of holding the men in custody.

No sooner had Frank answered than he had to say, "Hold on a second, Frank," and turned to the medics, "Ten girls in the central room down the hallway, turn left; door on the right. Another girl in the bathroom directly across the hall from there." He gestured at the people in line carrying stretchers, medical kits, and blankets and nodded to Manuela as she passed.

"OK, Frank, did you hear that? There were fourteen beds and, figuring the one we have in the hospital, there should have been at least thirteen girls in the house, but we only have twelve. I got the impression that one of the men you're sitting on out there—the snazzy purple suit—would be the one to know where the business was. Would you maybe like to persuade him to reveal the number of children he's got out and where they might be?" He paused, listening, his lips spreading into an evil grin. "Frank, I don't give a damn. Just get him to tell you how many girls are out and where and as quickly as possible." He closed the phone with a snap.

"Calleigh!" His powerful shout echoed as he pulled his weapon from its holster and waited for her to come from a corner of the warehouse, where she had begun her visual sweep for evidence. When she arrived, already dusty from crawling over some boxes, he handed it to her and said, as if announcing the time of day, "I believe I killed one in there."

Calleigh, reaching for the weapon, replied almost primly, "Only one? Pity." She paused, thoughtfully looking at the pistol, and then handed it back. "Isn't there at least one girl left to find? This isn't over yet, and you might still need a weapon. Between getting trace from the girls and doing this place, I'll be on this scene all night and then back at the lab, so I'll be easy to find. Just give it to me later when you think you're done."

Retrieving it, he nodded slowly. "I think, in these circumstances, that will be close enough for procedure."

Calleigh smiled, "Close enough for government work, anyway." She knew she'd get flak from IAB brass at best and from Stetler at worst, but she didn't really care.

Horatio went inside, ostensibly to check on the medical rescue efforts, but he was really looking for Manuela. Having witnessed her reactions to Viola, he wondered how she was holding up, here. Dodging the first team coming out with a girl on a stretcher, he went to the central room and peered in.

Unseen by her, he saw Manuela, on her knees, sitting back on her ankles, amidst the victims and the medical team. She was smiling, patting one girl's arm and talking in a reassuring manner to another. All of the children were calmer than before, looking around in wide-eyed wonder.

To him, Manuela appeared younger looking and seemed almost relaxed. 'She's in a familiar element,' he thought, 'surrounded by a harem of children, as she had been so many years ago.'

His phone chirped. "Yes, Frank?" He listened, his eyes glinting. "I'll meet you at your car. The CSI team needs the equipment in the Hummers, so I'll ride with you." He glanced again at Manuela, who remained unaware of his presence, and turned to leave.

"Eric, Ryan, I'll meet you at the lab after you've finished here. Calleigh, come with me, please, we have the location of the other little girl, and I'll need you when we transport her." His bark resounded sharply from the metal girders above.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimers**: All characters from CSI: Miami are property of CBS. I own nothing connected with CBS or with CSI: Miami, I don't know anyone connected with CBS or with the show. I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

**Title**: Mutual Valor

**Pairing**: Horatio Caine/OC

**Rating**: NC 17 I know, 'M' is an accepted rating, but this is just in case you don't know, this is what 'M' means. This is not only for sexual content, but also for violence and references to sexual child abuse well.

**Spoilers**: There are references to previous episodes through fourth season.

**Challenge**: For you true experts on all CSI: Miami, the J's I use for story breaks, and the Sorority House, are references to one episode in particular. It will be up to you to figure out which episode and why I used the lines of J's.

**Comments**: Both negative and positive comments are always appreciated. I learn from the negative and enjoy the positive.

**Thank you:** Many thanks to my betas, Elena and Tonie. If not for you, this would have been a mess! I am truly grateful for your efforts.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary:** Story: Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued.

Chapter 12: Another raid. The team works to convict the abusers. The relationship between Horatio and Manuela develops.

Chapter 12:

"I know that address we got." Frank spoke as he drove. "It's a high-rise condo in the middle of Miami's main hotel district. This guy is so ritzy he's got the entire top floor of this place. Must 'a paid twenty mil for it." His tone showed his disgust for what he considered a ridiculous waste of money. "Jerko in the suit, uh, Kachedoorian, an Armenian—" Frank, a good hearted free-thinker and unvarnished bigot stated it as if the nationality were a bad word, "—he said this guy calls for this girl two, three times a month, and keeps her for a couple of days at a time. He had her picked up this afternoon, so he should still have her. Dammit!" He yelled this last at the traffic he was encountering, since, to avoid alerting their target, they were going in without sirens in the middle of the usual swirl of cars and people around the hotels, bars, and parties of downtown Miami at nearly midnight. "I just hope the SWAT team we called for can make it through this mess."

Horatio and Calleigh sat mute, in no mood to respond to Frank's diatribes or trade bon mots with each other, under the circumstances. Horatio wondered how Frank had convinced Kachedoorian to reveal the address and decided he'd never ask, knowing it was best to be in the dark on some subjects.

Finally, they reached the fashionable residential building, and as Frank conferred with the SWAT team that had arrived before them, both Calleigh and Horatio went inside. The doorman, who had seen them approaching down the long, grandly marbled entryway from his desk, stood by the opened door. His politely cool inquiry as to their business was stopped in mid-sentence as soon as the two flashed their badges and, keeping an eye on the entryway, he sidled to a partially open door behind his desk and said in a falsetto tone, "Some police are here."

The night manager, an easily excitable young man, went positively pale as he listened to their urgent explanations. He drew them to a hallway around a corner, out of sight of the entry, out of view of any approaching residents.

"Oh, no! Oh, dear! Oh, I can't allow that. Oh, really! No! Our residents are all law-abiding people. Um, a warrant. That's what I need. That's what you need!" He raised a cautioning finger at the man in front of him.

Horatio lost patience and forcefully shoved his chest against the well-groomed brunette, backing him into the mahogany paneled wall under a quietly elegant brass light fixture. Pushing his face to about half an inch away from the other's ear, he growled menacingly, "A warrant is being delivered as we speak, but, right now, it's not here. Right now, I have a child who is in desperate trouble upstairs, and I am going up there. I'm just telling you that I do not want any alarm given to the sub-vermin who has her. Do you understand?" He growled the last three words slowly and deliberately.

It was difficult to know which upset the manager more, being ordered not to call a resident about a visitor or being touched by a man in blood stained clothing and, who, most likely, was dangerous. He nervously whined something about sub-vermin not being a word but also nodded that he understood.

"Now, where is the service entrance to this building? Show me." Horatio grabbed the now shaking man's arm and dragged him in the direction of the pointed finger. Opening a door at the end of the hallway, he brought his captive into the echoing, plain, bare walled service corridor, where he took a quick assessment of the exit further down and a large elevator entrance. "Can you lock this elevator down?"

Nodding and reaching under his jacket, he immediately pulled out a ring of keys from his belt. The bruising grasp on his arm told him never to hesitate with this man. Thirty seconds later, they were back in the hushed, richly paneled hallway with Calleigh. "Now, I want you to tell me the layout of the top floor. We don't have time for drawings or diagrams, so just tell me, starting at the front door, and make it quick!"

After only the slightest vacillation, the manager started churning out surprisingly coherent information. He explained that there had once been two separate apartments, but the man had bought both and, "with a great deal of expensive remodeling," had combined the two, but with only one entrance. In less than a minute, after a quick description of the floor plan, both Horatio and Calleigh had the idea of the layout memorized.

"That," Horatio breathed into the sweating manager's ear, "was very good. Now here's what I want you to do next." He spoke concisely as he dragged the man into the grand lobby, "I want you to open those two elevator doors and put them on hold." He nodded at the two elevators on each side of the wide entrance hall.

"Then I want you to go over to the doorman and instruct him to hold open one of the front doors." Horatio nodded this time at the large, glass double door entry. "I want you to open the other door. You are both going stand there, holding the doors open but allowing no one else but my team to pass in or out until I tell you otherwise." His hold on the man's arm tightened a bit. "Do you understand?" A squeak was the only acknowledgment he could get. "Do it now." He let go of the arm with a jerk.

Standing in the middle of the lobby, Horatio signaled to the outside before quickly stepping into one of the elevators. The group of men, heavily armed, who'd been standing outside with Frank, burst through the doors and split into two groups, one joining Calleigh, the other with the lieutenant. Horatio stood at the back of the lift so the SWAT people would be able to move out first. Frank stayed in the lobby champing at the bit, making sure no one came in or left while the operation was going down.

On the way to the twelfth floor, Horatio knew Calleigh was explaining the floor plan to the people in her elevator, just as he was doing. He finished just as the bell tone signaled the destination.

The long hallway was plushly carpeted, muffling the sound of their approach as the two groups met. The area directly in front of the single entrance to the penthouse, was slightly wider and it was in this part that the men got into position with a battering ram. After a silent count of three, all hell broke loose.

Fifteen minutes later, the target and her captor were still nowhere to be found. The man's family, a wife and three teenage sons were found in the front side of the penthouse, where they obviously lived. Interrupted in their normal activities, watching television, doing homework, relaxing, they were now huddled in the dining room, under the guard, giving only silence in answer to all questions.

The other side of the penthouse, accessible only through a short hallway, was apparently set up as a guesthouse, a meeting place for visitors. What had once been the living room was now a conference room; the dining area was furnished as a small discussion area with a semi-circle of cushioned chairs around an elegant little rug, facing a large window overlooking downtown Miami; the once large bedrooms had each been remodeled into two or more smaller sleeping chambers; but one room didn't make sense.

Where the other rooms were well designed, this room was tiny, narrow and somehow out of proportion. It was Calleigh, in the fourth sweep of the area, passing by the open door of the darkened room, who noticed a flash of light from an odd little chamber, about a yard deep, under a built-in bookcase. She silently motioned to the nearby SWAT leader, pointed at the peculiar little cubbyhole, and in as quiet a whisper as she could manage, told him what she had seen.

Ten minutes and a quiet conference later, the team, with Calleigh and Horatio, established that this was an entrance to some sort of secret chamber, which, they were fairly certain, had no other exit. The likelihood their man was in there was huge, but unfortunately, the only entrance into the room was through that four-foot high tunnel like aperture. Everyone agreed that going in meant either squatting down or bending over, either of which would put each in grave danger to attack from whatever awaited on the other side. Horatio was not surprised, though, when the team members all just traded sardonic smiles; their extensive training had taken entrances like these, and worse, into account. This type of entrance was simply making their difficult training more than worthwhile.

Watching as they rifled through the entrance as swiftly as if they had been running upright, Horatio held his breath for whatever might come next. First, there was nothing but the sharp sounds of the officers as they confronted whatever was on the other side, some shouting, then some sort of quiet reply, and then silence.

Finally, one of the men came struggling out, carrying his rifle in one hand and the other hand wrapped around the arm of the captor, dragging him unceremoniously behind. He was short, pudgy man, wearing a large, gold-lamé turban and a voluminous purple robe, garishly decorated with silvered stars and crescents. Pushed through the opening by another officer, the man was hauled to his feet and roughly removed from the room.

Horatio knew, when he saw the faces of the rest of the men, as they slowly came behind, out of the tunnel, that what they had found inside had been the worst of all possible scenarios.

Part of the later testimony in court was, "I saw this guy standing on this pile of pillows, dressed like some potentate with a turban and all. He was holding what I thought was a rag doll in his hands, only it turned out to be this little girl he was holding by the neck. So I'm looking at him and he's looking at us all calm-like, and then he tosses the body at us and says, 'Here, take this, I guess I'm done with it.'"

An hour later, Alexx found Horatio on one knee, hovering protectively over the child's body. Knowing he had probably been there since he'd entered the room, she gently put a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, sweetheart, you can rest now. I'll take over." Sadly, she realized she'd said almost the same thing to him a couple of years before, at the scene of Tim Speedle's death.

As before, Alexx had to wait for the man to react, to come back from whatever place he was. Moments ticked by until, not saying a word, in one flowing movement, he rose to his feet and walked away.

While Alexx did a quick prelim of the child before calling to the body haulers waiting outside the tunnel, Horatio's and Calleigh's preliminary exam found that the room was equipped with several video cameras, all feeding into laptop computers set on a wall shelf, all of which were still operating. Each of the screens showed different views of the room, and a quick inspection of the hard drives revealed an entire record of not only the activities from that evening, but many hours worth of previous recordings.

"These cameras were sound and motion activated. Every move made in here is captured." Calleigh's dismay was evident in the lower pitch of her voice, while at the same time her eyes blazed at all evidence that would incontrovertibly convict the man. "Four cameras, four angles. It even has him strangling her. Oh, Horatio, it's all here."

"Calleigh, do you realize that these computers are also online? The activities in here were streamed out onto the web as they happened." Horatio's jaw jutted out in disgust as he looked around at the cameras, hoping that whatever savages were now watching saw the look on his face, the shake of his head, the badge on his hip. "Shut them off now—now Calleigh! The show is over."

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By four o'clock that morning, Horatio was tired enough and disappointed enough to brook no nonsense at the Kern house. He ordered that an armored car not only ram the gate entrance but also continue on its course into the front entry of the house. As soon as the vehicle had backed out of the rubble, assisted by Frank and six of Miami's finest, he was inside, flashlight in hand and announcing himself and the purpose of his visit.

Kern, stumbling down the debris-strewn staircase, shouting, wanting to know about the meaning of it all, was immediately arrested. In a rather hurried descent down the stairs, he happened to suffer a broken finger and a bruised jaw when he accidentally tripped and hit himself on the banister, and then, as he stumbled over the various fragments in the entryway, unfortunately, he stubbed his toe and got cuts on his bare feet from broken glass. However, he never registered any complaints against the arresting officers.

By seven-thirty in the morning at the lab, Caine realized he had just completed his twenty-fourth hour on the job. At that time, the night shift had finished up and left and the day shift was just arriving. He found Calleigh in the lounge, asleep on the couch, and Eric, snoring softly , in a chair across from her. Not finding Ryan, he did notice a couple of machines whirring busily in the section where he generally worked. From this, Horatio figured that the young detective's OCD would push him to go all the way home to shower and change, to get himself just so and then return to resume his analyses of whatever trace he was currently working on.

For himself, a change of shirt, a cup of coffee—perhaps a doughnut, if some angel of mercy thought to bring any in that day—would have to do.

Half an hour later, he called Manuela, hoping he wasn't waking her, knowing she was still at the hospital. Asking if she'd had a chance to rest and receiving only a groan for a reply, his next inquiry was about the children. Hearing they were all in various states of shock and ill health and expressing his well wishes for them, he briefly described the events of the night after he had left the warehouse. Finally, he asked about coming to question the girls, and much to his relief, she didn't object.

Making sure the team was going to get some rest after finishing up some details on the preliminary investigation, three hours later, Horatio headed out again. After another cup of coffee in the Hummer, his fourth, he arrived at the hospital. The clerks at the reception desk recognized him from his years of frequent visits and immediately directed him to the floor where the girls were being treated. Since the hospital no longer had 'wards', a small meeting room, large enough for all the girls to be together, had quickly been set up with beds and equipment.

"Manuela, how are you doing?"

"Horatio, don't ask, I don't do well without sleep. Did you know that's why I chose law? Lawyers are not known for keeping early hours." She grinned wryly and nodded. "I'm doing what I can to help the girls; we're already starting to look for their parents. At least I was able to promise them your help." Shyly, admiringly, she glanced up at him. " But other than that, I'm okay." Then, giving him a second, more critical look, she declared, "You look awful. How are you doing?"

Sunglasses still in hand, he turned slightly, looking down at her with a faint smile. "Running on adrenalin. We got two more names and addresses from the man who's the ringleader of this operation, and that's being taken care of, so, now, I want to question the girls and see what else I can find. I'd like to apprehend as many of the participants as is possible, as quickly as possible. When word of what's happened gets out, anyone having anything to do with this house will be scuttling under rocks and into the slime before we know it.

"Have you told them yet about the death of their friend?"

She shook her head looking toward the beds. "No and I don't think that's a good idea just yet."

"All right, I won't mention that." He turned, his gaze following hers.

Two of the children had so entirely shut down emotionally that they were in a fetal position under their bedcovers, one of them was the girl from the hallway. To these two, Horatio bent down to what he hoped was the approximate location of an ear on each and whispered through the blankets, "My name is Horatio, and I'm a policeman. My job is to catch the men who were so mean to you and to see that they will never, ever hurt you again. You will get better, sweetheart and you'll be a happy and beautiful person."

To the others he talked quietly and reassuringly, also greeting a still subdued but happier Viola. Manuela was by his side and, on occasion, she interrupted him with seemingly innocuous comments or questions to the girls which, on later reflection, he realized she'd done, apparently, whenever she thought his questions were too upsetting. This bothered him a little because, although protecting the girls was all very well, it had not only stopped him from getting information but also showed that she was not particularly on his side. He briefly wondered if having to do it bothered her as much as it annoyed him. In spite of this, he had been able to gain some invaluable knowledge, which compensated for the distractions.

Again, before he left, he held a brief conference with Manuela. "What is being done about Viola's pregnancy? Are any of the other girls pregnant?"

Manuela sighed, looking tired as he felt. "They're using drugs to terminate her and that of one other. Thank goodness, neither is very far along, probably no more than three or four weeks, which is good, not only because it means the abortion process is less traumatic, but at their age, they would show within six weeks, and these houses don't bother to deal with pregnancies. If those men had known about them they might have... well, I don't know."

Horatio felt an unpleasant vibration inside at the thought of what Manuela could have meant by, 'I don't know.' "All right. I think I'm done here, so I'm going to be on my way to track down some people and locations, and ordering up some warrants. If any of them remember anything more, you know how to contact me." His aggravation with the world showed in his head movements, as he seemed to try to nod and shake his head all at once, as he spoke. When he did manage to hold his head still, a spot in his left cheek twitched regularly.

Watching this, Manuela came to a quick decision. "Horatio? Have you got a minute? To talk some more, I mean?"

"Can we do it later? I'd like to get on this."

"Please? Just a quick moment. I need something. Come, I know a place." She took his large hand in her smaller one and led him out of the ward.

On each floor, the hospital had set up a Quiet Room; more than a waiting room or a lounge, but not quite a chapel, it was an area for rest, for contemplation or reflection. Invitingly comfortable couches and a couple of easy chairs surrounding a small bubbling fountain in subdued lighting made an appealing setting.

"Here, sit." Manuela settled into the corner of an overstuffed couch and patted the area beside her. While he made himself comfortable, she laid her head back and stretched out her legs, sighing.

Following her example Horatio did likewise, but admonished with some irritation, "What do you need? Please, I can't do this for too long, Manuela."

She groaned, "Neither can I, or I'll fall asleep. I just wanted to get some details on how little Sheila died." Though there was no movement next to her, she could feel Horatio shut down. Reaching over to him, she picked up his lax hand and lightly shook it, saying, "Hey, you, Sir, Lieutenant Caine, I know you don't want to talk about it, but I need to hear so I'll know what to tell those kids in there, when its time." She looked over and smiled encouragingly. "It could take ten minutes if you tell me, now, or it could take more for me to drag it out of you."

A few minutes later, he concluded with, "The recordings prove he was strangling her as we came in through the front door. Apparently, there were surveillance cameras in the hallway so he saw us as we came out of the elevators." He shook his head slowly as he stared at his feet. "I honestly don't think we could have saved her even if we had known the location of the room from the start."

"I think you're right." Manuela's voice was small and quiet. Absorbing the peace of the surroundings, she turned to look at him. "Still, it's a terrible thing for you and I am sorry." She wanted to reach up and unnecessarily smooth back his hair, to pull his head onto her lap, and knew she couldn't, not here. All she could do was reassure him, and hope that talking had done some good.

For the first time since he sat down, he looked over at her and then smiled slightly. "Thank you," he said, realizing how much better he felt, wondering how she did it with so little effort.

She rose with some effort, turned, and put her hand out. "You are welcome, and now..."

Taking her hand and coming up to his full height, he concluded, "We have work to do."

Out in the hallway, he took one final, close look at his friend and asked, "And you, Manuela? I want to be sure you're okay."

The lawyer looked up into his eyes, her face dimpled, an eyelid fluttered in a wink, and she nodded briefly. With that reassurance, Horatio was off to catch some more bad-guys, or at least, see if some of the fact-finding duties could be moved over to the next shift to expedite matters.

Watching him stride to the elevator door, Manuela took note of the stretch of the man's legs, the swing of the back of his jacket, the graceful swivel of his head as he took in everyone and everything about him, the movement of his shoulders. The word, 'nice,' came to mind, causing just the hint of a glow in her eye.

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The next day, Saturday, after a few hours of sleep, Horatio arrived to find that three more men, one a city councilman, and two madams, who acted as liaisons to meet their clients' wishes, had all been brought in for questioning. Using the mug shots, faxed to the hospital for the girls to see, he got positive ID's on all of them, and five arrests were made.

By that afternoon, reports on evidence found at the warehouse, began coming in. DNA was matched to both semen from the men and blood traces from the girls, usually mixed, sealing the fates of the captors arrested at the warehouse.

Alexx, having performed a careful postmortem on the victim from the penthouse, reported that the child indeed, had been strangled to death. Wolfe, following up on the handprint bruises on the child's neck, proved an exact match to the hands of the man they'd arrested in the penthouse. The satisfaction Ryan derived from this rivaled Horatio's.

One surprise in the fantasy room of the penthouse was that not all of the semen matched the owner. The older son, sixteen, was subsequently arrested just as he was about to board a plane bound for the Middle East. His mother and siblings did not change their flight plans.

Kern's house revealed a similar mix of his semen with bodily fluids and blood in a makeshift bedroom set up in a large closet off of his own bedroom. The samples proved a match to a second girl from the house, as well as Viola's.

At the end of the day, Manuela called to tell him the agency had found the parents of three of the girls, the news of which, as she had hoped, cheered him immensely.

That evening, Horatio went home and found the condo next to his dark. He called her cell, to verify that she was still at the hospital and that all was well. She told him she was waiting for the first set of parents to arrive, and once they were settled in, assured him she would come home for a few hours of sleep. Promising to go with her to the hospital the next day, wishing her a good night, he went to bed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimers**: All characters from CSI: Miami are property of CBS. I own nothing connected with CBS or with CSI: Miami, I don't know anyone connected with CBS or with the show. I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

**Title**: Mutual Valor

**Pairing**: Horatio Caine/OC

**Rating**: NC 17 I know, 'M' is an accepted rating, but this is just in case you don't know, this is what 'M' means. This is not only for sexual content, but also for violence and references to sexual child abuse well.

**Spoilers**: There are references to previous episodes through fourth season.

**Challenge**: For you true experts on all CSI: Miami, the J's I use for story breaks, and the Sorority House, are references to one episode in particular. It will be up to you to figure out which episode and why I used the lines of J's.

**Comments**: Both negative and positive comments are always appreciated. I learn from the negative and enjoy the positive.

**Thank you:** Many thanks to my betas, Elena and Tonie. If not for you, this would have been a mess! I am truly grateful for your efforts.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary:** Story: Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued.

Chapter 13: Horatio helps members of his team to get through the day and gives himself some good advice.

Chapter 13:

After the horrifically busy week they'd had, Horatio hated having to treat Monday like any other week's beginning, but that was life as a Miami CSI. He just hoped his team had rested as he had.

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The day before, he'd taken Manuela to the hospital as he'd promised and spent some time there before going out to get some take-out from a good, local Thai restaurant. Then he'd run some errands in the afternoon and returned to the hospital that evening to take Manuela home again. On the way home, they'd had a conversation about her name.

"Call me Mannie," she'd invited.

Unaware that he dropped his chin whenever he was contemplating an answer to suit what was, for him, a difficult proposal, he asked, "Hmm, would it all right if I call you Manuela?"

"It just sounds so formal—everyone calls me Mannie."

Driving the refurbished, red, nineteen-sixty-two TR4 into the parking space, he killed the engine. Turning only his head, he looked up into her eyes with a hopeful smile. "Manuela, thank you, but..."

"I'm curious; why?"

Staring out the windshield for a moment, gathering his thoughts, he, then, turned towards her in the cramped area before answering. "I think it's because one, I like the name, Manuela, and two, well, Mannie sounds like an offhanded, casual sort of name, and to me, you are neither." Until he had voiced the thought, he had no idea how true the words were.

She gazed at him a moment, so close in the small car, and gave a small shrug. "Just wanted to let you know."

Before dropping off to sleep that night, Horatio's thoughts, returned to his neighbor, and he briefly mused over the matter of her name: A friend deserved complete respect and that included for their given name. Besides, a friend's parents, who had chosen the name, deserved respect also and, respecting the parents meant respecting the name. True, diminutives, even initials, among family, could mean appreciation, even love, but not from him. Besides, he liked the sound of Manuela, but he wasn't quite ready to admit that.

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As anticipated, Stetler pounced on him as soon as he'd come out of the elevator. "I read the report of the shooting. Why didn't you hand in your gun immediately?"

"Because I had need of it in subsequent arrests over the next nine hours. We," he continued, putting strong emphasis on the word, "were busy, Sergeant. Tell me, are you now conducting your interviews in the hallway or are you just making pleasant conversation?" All of this was putting a damper on his good mood.

"Do you realize this will be the second interview for you on a shooting death in ten days?"

"Rick, do you have a time and place in mind, or are we still just making small talk?"

"Four o'clock this afternoon. Interview room two." Stetler sneered, turned, and walked away.

"Just because he knows he can," Horatio muttered under his breath. Uncomfortable without the weight of the gun on his hip, he knew he had several methods of getting it quickly returned: he could go to the chief and simply request the return of it, using extreme circumstances of an ongoing investigation; he could go to the chief and request that Stetler be required to move the interview time up to a more reasonable hour to speed up the process; or he could use any number of other approaches. While he considered the choices, he leafed through his messages. Midway through, he paused, his eyes wandering onto the floor, as a thought came to mind. When Horatio liked an idea, his chin and his eyes would rise skyward as if searching the heavens, as they did now, and he would smile. His smile grew as he stuffed the sheaf of notes into his outer jacket pocket; he really liked what he was thinking and, still smiling, he started on his morning rounds seeking reports.

"Mr. Wolfe. Have you anything to tell me about, today?"

"I'm analyzing blood and hair samples taken from the girls at the hospital to see if they were ever administered any drugs; want to nail those bastards six ways from Sunday."

"Good."

"I was also able to get back to the Mummy case. Found something really interesting ; maybe an explanation for the preservation of the body."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, the records showed a sudden rise in electricity use from about five months before the company turned it off. Apparently, he cranked up the air conditioning and ran it twenty-four hours a day. The guy I talked to said it would be consistent with having done that."

"And air conditioning, by its very nature, dries out the air as it cools."

Ryan smiled, "So-o-o-o, the temperature kept the body from decomposing, which is why only the thicker internal organs and eyes, which are mostly fluid, decayed. The dry air, washing over the body at a constant rate caused dehydration of the coarser, less moist parts of the outer body, like the muscles and the skin, sort of like they do with beef jerky."

Pausing at the unfavorable analogy, Horatio added, "Or like a mummy. However, this information, then, also skews his time of death; Alexx thought TOD was between two to four months ago, based on the decomp of the eyes, but perhaps not. Did you get any information about what the approximate temperature in the condo would have been from the time of the spike to the time when the electricity was turned off?"

Wolfe sighed. "Not yet. That would be dependent on the weather and humidity and several other variables. I went back and checked the thermostat, and it was turned down to fifty, so it's possible that, at least at night, the temperature was really that low in there."

"So TOD might actually have been within three months of the last activity we found. It's still only our best estimate, though, isn't it? Even if we could work out all of those variables, we may not have to concern ourselves with a time line if it was suicide, so, let's see, first, if we can find any evidence of foul play. For now, for a time line, let's just go with records of last known activity, but good going on the explanation for the mummification, Mr. Wolfe. I think you got it. Now, what about the phone records?"

"Got a lead on a couple of people that still live in the area. I'll be calling to interview them as soon as I get the blood and hair analyses on the girls finished."

"What about the bank records? Was there anything unusual there? Any sudden withdrawals before transaction stopped?"

"No. His last deposit came from the Florida Department of Employment, a direct deposit about a year before his final personal transaction. Looking at the records, I found he'd lost his job six months before that, which could explain the depression theory. After that last deposit, there were only withdrawals, but those were consistent with the previous year, like ATM cash—maybe for groceries–and then minor purchases made through his debit card." Ryan referred to a sheaf of papers saying, "Finally, the only activity on the account was the bill pay service, which ended when the accounts were drained. He'd squirreled away quite a bit of money when he worked, and he'd arranged for money from a savings account to be automatically transferred to checking as needed so that's why it took as long as it did."

"So, he was as meticulous about his money as he was with his personal records. Not only did he shred all documents before throwing them away, he made sure his bills would always be paid, made sure he had enough money. Then, he got sloppy about disposing of his records and didn't shred them, but since he had already arranged for the bills, that continued on its own."

"And either lost contact with friends or," Wolfe frowned, "do you think he might not have had any friends? Can people exist in today's world without friends? Family, maybe, but friends?"

Horatio took longer than usual to answer, turning his gaze downward and narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. "It's more than possible, especially in today's world." He pulled in a deep breath and straightened his back. "Please focus most of your attention right now on evidence from the warehouse and the other scenes from that case; work on the mummy case only as time permits. Thank you Mr. Wolfe. Keep me posted, please."

Next, he found Eric looking at sheets from the warehouse scene. There were several piles, both on the large table and in labeled bags on the floor. The glow from the table, ordinarily used to examine transparencies, was obscured by the heaps.

"Mr. Delko, what have we here?"

Whenever Delko was working on a distasteful aspect of crime his whole demeanor showed it; his speech was slower than usual, his voice acquiring a heavy sound, as if the dejection weighed down his tongue; he carried his chin lower to his chest, and even the lower rims of his eyes seemed to sag, giving him a basset hound look. "Yeah, H. Trying to analyze who did what to who and when. Well," he said, looking disgusted, "we got the who and who already but now I'm just trying to figure out how to know the when." His upper lip curled in the repugnance of it all, but his eyebrows knit into his forehead showed his distress.

His boss stood at the door, his face reflecting the agitation he saw in the younger man's own.

"I mean, I know we need to show a timeline of the abuse and all, but it's hard, you know? To find out that this little child was raped here and here and on this day and on that, again and again, helpless..."

"I know, I know. It's hard." He looked around, remembering when he'd had to do this sort of unpleasant job, how he'd survived doing the analysis without getting involved in the monstrosity of it all. But then, Delko was not him, possibly might not be able to do the same sort of mind tricks. Slowly shaking his head, he cautioned, "Try not thinking of the blood and the rest as belonging to a child, Eric. It's a bunch of samples with ID numbers. Stick with those numbers. They are not what they are, for right now, all right?"

Delko slowly nodded his head. "Yeah, I get you, just numbers." He inhaled and exhaled as if preparing to lift a heavy weight. Suddenly he slammed a fist onto a pile of sheets and said, "I just want to prove how guilty those sons-of-bitches are!"

"I know you do, but you can't make this a personal vendetta, Eric; we're not determining guilt, here, but letting the science show what is. That's what we do. It's the lawyers who will show the guilt through the evidence that comes from the science that we use. Okay?" He turned to leave and then turned back. "You hang in there, all right?"

Delko looked up from under his lowered brows and made a face, but returned to the job.

Horatio knew that there were still sheets from the other two scenes to be similarly analyzed for time-line, but decided to let that subject alone for now. His people were working their butts off and didn't need the pressure, the way he was getting it from the brass, who was demanding he get more work done faster on this case.

Watching Calleigh work, Horatio almost envied her. As usual, she was multitasking, using two comparison-microscopes, moving back and forth between them, making notes, with the calm of a Zen master. She had a talent for being able to completely and utterly change focus from moment to moment, never getting flustered, no matter how much information she kept track of. For Horatio's shooting, her only concern was to verify that the bullets used to kill the man in the warehouse were from his gun, using an exemplar from the files as the original. Of course, she was also examining his weapon. The other microscope was being used, he surmised, to compare bullets used in the shooting in the canal case to the ones found at the mini-mart robbery from four years previously. Later she would be comparing bullets of the same caliber used in the strip-mall store two weeks ago. Two completely different cases, different analyses, and she was working them both to the nth degree, he knew. It was a pleasure to watch her operate.

Seeing him in the hallway, she popped to the door. "By lunch time."

He knew she was referring to his pistol. Rather than tell her about the delayed interview with Stetler, he just nodded and asked, "Anything else?"

"Well, we're almost ready to close in on the canal shooter. Cooper hasn't given me the report, yet, but he said the victim's ID of the guy who shot him was the same as what he came up with for the robber in the case from four years ago, Santiago Lopez. The new technology had no trouble extrapolating the features and matching them with the one in the Facial Recognition Program. Would you believe this guy has a recent record, possession of an illegal firearm? So, it was no trick to find him. There's already a stakeout on him and they're just waiting for him to show them the cache."

"But you don't have Dan's report on the recording? I'll go see if he's got it, now. Be sure to call me when you bring that guy in," and don't let it be tomorrow, he added silently.

At the A/V lab, Horatio commented, "I understand you've been working on an old video tape from a four year old mini-mart robbery and you were able to get a make on a man?"

Sitting in front of a multiple array of monitors Dan replied, "Yes, and he is the one fingered by his latest victim from Calleigh's canal case." Typical of many techs, Cooper talked and continued staring into a monitor as he spoke. Achieving mastery over dozens of programs was primary to his way of thinking, and handing out the information he got from them was merely secondary.

"Good job, Mr. Cooper. Do you by any chance have the report ready for Calleigh? I could take it to her for you. Save you the trouble."

Cooper turned to look at the boss. Kind as the words were—softly as they were uttered—there was a note, a tone, if you will, that brought the tech out of his reverie. "Uhhh, I'll get right on it and take it to her myself in about fifteen minutes." He scooted his chair to another keyboard in front of another monitor, grabbed at the mouse and was soon tapping and mousing like a demon.

Horatio took note of the response and filed away mental comments; working with these talented, highly trained people was great, but sometimes they needed a proper boot in the butt. It was just remembering who responded to size thirteen brogans and who needed steel-toed, velvet evening slippers.

The morgue was his last stop on the morning rounds, and Alexx was just pulling off a pair of latex gloves as he walked in. "I just finished up on the man you shot, Horatio. Each bullet entered cleanly through the left side of the chest following nearly equal paths, passing between the second and third ribs, entering the heart, passing at a steep angle through the left atrium down into the left ventricle, down through the interventricular septum, through the lower right ventricle, out the other side and both finally lodged at the bottom of the right lung. I sent both to Calleigh."

Her dark eyes filled with care and concern, she asked, "I heard what the sick bastard did to the little girl. Will she live?"

"Yes, Alexx. The cut turned out to be fairly superficial."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that. I am not sorry about you shooting that monster, though." She smiled a toothy grin. "I also heard you were shooting through a crack in the door? Good on you! Good shooting!" From a woman who abhorred the results of the violence she dealt with every day, this was high praise indeed.

Poised on the balls of his feet, Horatio's answering smile was faint as he stared at the floor. "What about the girl from the penthouse? Did you get to her, yet?"

"Not yet. I'll be doing a complete post on her after lunch."

Horatio's voice was soft as he still addressed the floor. "All right, Alexx. Thank you." He paused and absently added, "Anything else to report?"

"Nothing I haven't written out and sent upstairs already, Horatio."

Coming out of his reverie, the distant look remaining, he thanked the ME and walked out of the room.

Horatio sat at his desk with an unseen report in front of him and replayed Alexx's words in his mind. He knew that his marksmanship was nearly the best in the force, but to be praised for using it to take a man's life? A bad man, true—the worst sort on earth—but, still... It had been, what, eight days since he'd shot another man, and under nearly the same circumstances. Each time he'd been the only one with a clear shot, each time he had made a quick decision to use his talent to fire true. One child saved, another dead, two men dead. Praise all around. He wished the praise wasn't for the true kill, but the good save.

This was a hell of a job; sometimes you were forced to kill people and, too often, you got praised for it. On the other hand, what a privilege it was to be on a job where you were able to save people's lives. Finding the balance between the two, in the mind, where one, saving people, outweighed the other, killing the criminals, but where each seemed to hold equal moral value; that was hard. Last week, the scales—weights, balance, trays and all, everything—had tipped, no, had crashed, onto him. This time, at least, there had been a little better distribution between the two sides.

He decided that his plans for the next day were good ones, no matter what the outcome from the interview with Stetler.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimers**: All characters from CSI: Miami are property of CBS. I own nothing connected with CBS or with CSI: Miami, I don't know anyone connected with CBS or with the show. I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

**Title**: Mutual Valor

**Pairing**: Horatio Caine/OC

**Rating**: NC 17 I know, 'M' is an accepted rating, but this is just in case you don't know, this is what 'M' means. This is not only for sexual content, but also for violence and references to sexual child abuse well.

**Spoilers**: There are references to previous episodes through fourth season.

**Challenge**: For you true experts on all CSI: Miami, the J's I use for story breaks, and the Sorority House, are references to one episode in particular. It will be up to you to figure out which episode and why I used the lines of J's.

**Comments**: Both negative and positive comments are always appreciated. I learn from the negative and enjoy the positive.

**Thank you:** Many thanks to my betas, Elena and Tonie. If not for you, this would have been a mess! I am truly grateful for your efforts.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary:** Story: Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued.

Chapter 14: Horatio's day off leads to unexpected results

Chapter 14:

Since Horatio's position, as head of the CSI day shift, allowed him to be pretty much self-directed and self-governing, and since his location, the beach in Miami, was among the top tourist destinations of the world, he decided, for once, to take advantage of both. The day before, while sorting through his messages, he'd resolved that the one day off, Sunday, had been nice, but not enough, and that, after the hell he'd lived for the last week or so, maybe overdoing a good thing would be perfect. The night before, he'd invited Manuela to join him in playing a little hooky, and she had readily accepted. So, first thing in the morning, he'd called in to work, made sure nothing needed his urgent attention, and asked Paula to inform his team he would not be in for the day.

Finally, that morning, he first slathered on industrial-strength sunscreen for his redhead-pale skin, dressed in his lightest linen slacks, a light, long sleeved shirt, and heavily soled sandals, and finished the outfit with a desert-storm style slouch hat. Stuffing his pockets with money, entry keys, a travel-size bottle of sunscreen, and dark glasses, he stepped into the hallway, and pulled the door shut with a decided thump. Feeling euphoric with freedom already, he slid in a dance-like move to next-door, beat a quick rat-tat-tat, then shifted from foot to foot in unaccustomed impatience to get the day started.

The short wait was quickly rewarded when Manuela opened the door. She was a lovely sight that morning and obviously as ready for fun as he was. Dressed in form fitting retro style, pastel pink Capri slacks, sleeveless white, square-necked cut-off cotton top, and sandals with white spaghetti straps that laced up past her ankles, she had even slicked her hair back. Goggle-like dark glasses perched on her head completed the 'look.'

"Breakfast at Tiffany's!" The words popped out of his mouth with a grin.

"Darn! You guessed!"

"Heh! Well, Audrey, are you ready to walk to forever?" Granted, he was referring to the plan to simply walk down the beach for the day, but, in his current mood, he couldn't resist the phrase.

"Oh, Darling," she even managed a slight Hepburn-like break in her voice, "and ever again! Let's go." She took his proffered arm and pranced gaily beside him to the elevators.

The night before, discussing the day to come, they had made a pact to not discuss work, or anything resembling it, nor personal problems, and certainly not world affairs. Even so, no one would have detected even a minute of silence between the two; from brunch at a beachfront restaurant, to inspecting several hotel shopping malls, watching a display of dueling kites on the beach, snacking on soft pretzels and sno-cones—strawberry for her, grape for him—the banter between them seldom stopped. They chattered about everything, from the artwork on the kites, to the shape of the majestic clouds above them.

Exploring the world on a day off was like exploring a new planet for Horatio; everything seemed remarkably interesting and different, unlike anything in his daily world. The elation he'd first felt in the hallway that morning, remained, invigorating him as he'd seldom been in the last year or so. That day, perhaps the first, he didn't think about Marisol or Ray. For the first time in ages, he didn't mind being silly or rattling inanely about how beautiful the day was. He was having a good time!

By the late afternoon, their conversation got comically heated and lively, and all because they had broken the pact of the night before. Nearing their condo, they began poking fun at each other about their respective jobs' acronyms.

"Really! I swear I'm not making this up. I've heard CPS called Carousing Pot-smoking Scumbags!" Walking backwards, pants rolled up, Horatio's voice carried over the sloshing waves.

Shoes in hand, walking the line marked in the sand by the incoming surf in the late afternoon sun, Manuela was following him, and in mock indignation, putting her wrists to her hips, she said, "Oh, yeah? Well CSI stands for Clown School Invertebrates, so there!"

"How about Crappy Piss-ant Shits?" Horatio suddenly had to sprint for his life, chased by a growling Manuela. Since he'd started too late to escape her, Manuela easily grabbed at his shoulders and fell against him, pushing him to the sand onto his hands and knees. His hat falling from his head, he turned onto his back, holding his arms over his face to protect his eyes from the sand tossed about by the softly flailing arms. "Hey! Hey!"

"Take that back! Take it back!" She pretended to beat at his heaving chest, as he lay nearly convulsed with laughter.

"No! No! No!" he gasped, shaking his head from side to side.

Climbing onto him, straddling his waist, she returned, nodding vigorously, "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

"No! No! No!" He raised his voice to a falsetto and tossed his head again.

Lowering her feminine voice as much as she could she added a bit of a growl, "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Still replying with 'no', still laughing, suddenly Horatio began nodding in agreement, up and down.

Manuela's grin widened as she responded with 'yes,' but shook her head widely from side to side.

"No! No! No!" nodded Horatio.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" responded Manuela, as she negatively tossed her head.

Finally, she'd placed her hands on Horatio's shoulders, leaning on them, looking into his happy face a moment. Releasing him, she triumphantly pulled herself up, raising a finger in the air, and announced, "'Singing in the Rain!'"

"Funny movie! Best scene is where Donald O'Connor is singing 'Be a Clown' doing flips off walls in a movie set until he hits a wall made of paper."

"And goes right through! Bam! Oh but the 'Yes! Yes! Yes! No! No! No!' was so good." She threw herself off of her victim and collapsed onto her back in the sand beside him.

Lying back, staring up at the blue sky, Horatio took a deep breath, noisily exhaling. "God! It feels good to laugh! I can't remember the last time I laughed or felt so good."

"Same here! Really good! Needed this, lots!" She rolled onto her side, propping her head onto her shoulder. "You get good ideas sometimes." Taking off her dark glasses, she propped them up onto the top her head with a flourish, smiling back at her companion.

Looking into her eyes, he noted the slanting sun brought out flecks of gold against the shades of brown and bits of green. "Yes," he acknowledged, "on rare occasion, I do." He almost reached out to stroke her cheek, but instead he hauled himself up onto his feet, stared around, and put his balled up fists on his hips. "Well, whaddya know? We're back home!" He looked down at her, "You know what? I'm going inside to grab a shower. Then we can continue this fun-and-games day going out to dinner. What do you say?" He reached down to her.

Responding to his outstretched hand, Manuela allowed herself to be pulled up. "I think we'd better go in through the side door." She came close, put a hand up to his shoulder, a finger to her lips in a gesture of secrecy, and theatrically looked about. "If we track sand through the lobby, there'll be a polite note in our boxes from the Building Association."

Walking in the direction of the building's side door, Horatio was happily surprised to find Manuela's arm slip about his waist as she fell into step beside him. Responding by shortening his stride, he let his arm fall loosely onto her shoulder and felt her fitting herself against him.

By the time the elevator carried them to their floor, they realized how tired they were, and decided not to go out after all but to order in and an hour later, they were dining al fresco on his patio.

Finishing as much as she could of the arroz con calamarias from Horatio's favorite Cuban restaurant, Manuela begged off of the container of coquitos. "I'll make some real coffee, later, and we can have them then." She rose from the patio table, taking her plate. "You sure you don't want this?" She indicated her unfinished plate.

Though he had easily finished his vaca frita, two tortillas, and a good part of the berenjenas rellenas he put his hand out in silent denial. "Put it away please, save it. If I ate that, you'd have to eat all of the coconut balls yourself, and I'd hate for you to suffer like that."

A couple of minutes later, just as she was stepping back out onto the patio, she heard a loud, long belch. It had been a while since she'd heard such a thoroughly male sound and somehow the noise was strangely pleasant to her ears. Though she knew of some women who could equal the length and the volume, none could ever quite replicate the intensity. This one made her think of whales, sounding from the depths, sending messages to others of their kind hundreds of miles away.

"Was that you?" She found him leaning casually at the rail of the balcony, staring pensively at nothing in particular.

Looking at her with a shy smile, he looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry. Took me by surprise. I guess I ate too fast."

"No need to apologize. I just wasn't sure if it was you or a passing jet." She joined him, keeping a serious face, but glancing coyly out of the corner of her eye, pretended to scan the sky as if for aircraft.

Knowing she was waiting for a retort and deciding not to satisfy her, he shook his head, smiling slightly as he turned to also look out to the dark skyline. Even at this time of the year, the beginning of hurricane season, the horizon was dotted with the huge light displays of cruise ships, signifying thousands of people crammed into a small area, all declaring freedom, joy, and the power to eat at every waking moment for five to ten days straight. Added to these few bright stars were the lesser lights of fishing craft and party barges.

Another indicator of the season was the warm, heavy air that lay on the skin, like a damp heating blanket turned up to high. The only relief to the otherwise suffocating atmosphere was the slight breeze carried to the land from the cooler off shore ocean current, most noticeable in the evening; this air flow, however, seemed to stagnate during the day, terminated by the sun, or so it seemed. This time of the year, anywhere more than half a mile inland, the weather was endurable only with air conditioning or at the very least, fans. It was amazing how bearable humid air could be when propelled by fans.

Of course, it wasn't nearly so balmy when a hurricane was threatening. Just before the winds kicked up, the air would be so dead, so still, it felt like you were inhaling lead weights. Along with that was an electric feeling that crawled about, almost as if static was an entity out hunting for a place to inhabit, using the nervous system of any living thing as a conduit. Even if you didn't know from the air that a hurricane was approaching, the clue was in the change in the horizon which, instead of being starred as heavily as the sky itself, would be as dark as the cloud covered sky, devoid of vessels which were all heading for safe ports.

Horatio liked the feeling of the air, reassuringly warm and moist against his skin; liked standing here, on his patio, relaxed, stomach full, a beautiful woman by his side. Yes, just now was a good time.

Manuela suggested dancing, but after two songs, they decided they had both had enough activity for the day and wanted to just sit and listen to the salsa mix.

First, she went inside and attended to coffee, bringing the finished brew out in a complete service on a tray. As she suspected, Horatio took his black, but she needed the cream, the sugar, and mostly, she just liked using the pretty blue china coffee set. Finally seating herself, they both allowed their cups to cool, then each took a coconut ball from the syrupy plate at almost the same time, and finishing together, both noisily licked their fingers of the gooey treat.

When she returned from putting the coffee service in her kitchen, Manuela was drawn to the outer balcony wall again, seeking the errant breeze after the stagnant indoor air. She leaned her back against the rail, her head up, propping her elbows high on the top bar, completely unaware of how attractive she looked, dressed in white, fine linen slacks and a white sheer cotton blouse, both of which fit her curvy figure extremely well. Standing with her arms back, the light, coming from inside the condo, highlighting her breasts and hips against the darkness beyond, she was a vision to behold, though she was completely unconscious of the fact.

Rising from his seat, Horatio was drawn to her as moth to flame but, resisting temptation, he turned his chest into the rail beside her and pretended to scan the sidewalk below, hoping to find something to remark on, something to talk about, to keep himself from reaching out and touching her. His hands on the top rail, his arms out from his shoulders in a batwing position, he leaned forward, trying to block the tempting sight of her from his view, he was a little surprised to feel his left elbow being tapped, "Hey."

He turned, thinking that perhaps he had crowded her, ready to apologize, and was amazed to find her facing him, an unmistakably inviting smile playing about her lips. He was more amazed when she moved in closer and, finally, was astounded when her arms reached up to curl around his neck and pulled him down into a sweetly suggestive kiss. Quickly the surprise passed and he couldn't help but respond, taking her into his arms. Ten silent, but pleasantly active minutes later, she pulled away, said goodnight, and closed the gate behind her.

Stepping inside, Manuela paused at the open patio door, listening. She knew Horatio had not yet moved from where she'd left him, so she waited. Finally, she heard something that was barely louder than the sound of the waves on the beach, something between a whispered whistle and a breathy 'whew', and then he went inside. She took note of it all. Unsure of herself, unsure of her actions, she did feel reasonably convinced that what she had heard was close to what she'd wanted as a response. Manuela thoughtfully retired.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimers**: All characters from CSI: Miami are property of CBS. I own nothing connected with CBS or with CSI: Miami, I don't know anyone connected with CBS or with the show. I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

**Title**: Mutual Valor

**Pairing**: Horatio Caine/OC

**Rating**: NC 17 I know, 'M' is an accepted rating, but this is just in case you don't know, this is what 'M' means. This is not only for sexual content, but also for violence and references to sexual child abuse well.

**Spoilers**: There are references to previous episodes through fourth season.

**Challenge**: For you true experts on all CSI: Miami, the J's I use for story breaks, and the Sorority House, are references to one episode in particular. It will be up to you to figure out which episode and why I used the lines of J's.

**Comments**: Both negative and positive comments are always appreciated. I learn from the negative and enjoy the positive.

**Thank you:** Many thanks to my betas, Elena and Tonie. If not for you, this would have been a mess! I am truly grateful for your efforts.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary:** Story: Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued.

Chapter 15: The results of Horatio's day off. Alexx and Horatio have a showdown. The mummy case is concluded, but the canal case is just getting revved up.

Chapter 15:

Paula, at her usual place at the lab's front desk, was the first to be fascinated by the change in Horatio's attitude, to say nothing of his appearance. While working on some files, she heard a softly whistled tune as the elevator doors opened. As the person approached the desk, she was about to look up to greet whoever it was, when she first heard his luxuriant, low-pitched murmur requesting his messages.

"Wait a minute! Horatio was whistling as he rode the elevator? No way!" This was from Maxine Valera, the first person Paula called to announce his remarkable arrival. "Come to think of it, he didn't come in yesterday and only a major disaster would keep him from coming in! That wouldn't have him whistling! Oh, man! Someone killed him and took over his body!" she wailed.

Others observed the slightly ruddy cast to his skin, the smile that appeared more quickly than usual, and finally, someone took notice that he was wearing a light tan suit instead of the black he'd been wearing for the past couple of years.

Completely unaware of the buzz he'd created, as far as he was concerned, life, work, and his day were proceeding as customary. True, his mind was on Manuela's pleasantly unusual behavior towards him the night before, however, it wasn't as if he was carrying an announcement on a waving banner. His thoughts were his own, kept under wraps at all times. And, his choice of suit? Chalk that up to having freed himself the day before, and given himself permission to enjoy life on occasion. He used to wear lighter colors all of the time. Besides, he had them, so why not wear them?

If nothing else, he'd expected comments on his previous day's absence, but was not surprised that there were none. Besides, whether anyone commented or not, was not his business, in any case. Instead, all of the greetings were, 'Horatio!' and 'Well, hi there!' and even a 'Nice threads,' which, although not the usual, 'good morning' or simply, 'Lieutenant,' also was not lost on him, but he didn't dwell on it either.

Of the trio that made up his primary team, only Delko did not respond directly to his, "Good morning, Eric, what do you have for me today?"

Instead, his first reply was, "Hey H, nice suit!" his face spreading into an admiring grin. After seeing Horatio's eyes lower and the slight beam on his face, in recognition of the notice, did Delko continue by reporting his current progress in finding a time line for the brutalities from the sheets taken from the warehouse.

Calleigh and Ryan, on the other hand, just looked and took mental notes to carry to their personal gossip buddies, but otherwise replied to his inquiries for reports without further comment.

Wolfe, after he'd taken the inventory of Horatio's new look, answered, "I was finally able to talk with our Mummy's last phone contacts. Apparently, he was very active in Miami's singles' scene for a couple of years. For one, Mel belonged to a singles-only bowling league and then some other group that called themselves "Wild On Wednesday," or the "WOW's". This group would meet at a different nightclub every Wednesday and socialize from about seven in the evening until about ten. The clubs liked them because they'd get the evening going, make it look like the club was busy, and that attracted the younger people. When these older folk went home, there was more room for the younger ones, who spent more money. This WOW group is mostly made up of people in their forties and fifties, and is generally too conservative in their spending habits for nightclub owner tastes."

"You got all of this from a phone conversation?"

"Yeah, got hold of a regular chatty-Cathy. This gal was one of the organizers of the WOW group before it folded a few months ago."

"And she remembered our mummy?" Horatio prompted.

"She sure did; she said Mel was one of her best members for a while. He'd show up every week, was one of those few guys who could actually dance, and wasn't shy about buying drinks for ladies. Mainly, she remembered that he didn't seem 'available' though, never seemed to hook up with anyone, whereas everyone else played what sounded like musical beds. I kind of got the impression she was saying he never dated 'her.' Anyway, then he didn't show up for a while and when he did return, he just hung back, didn't dance, didn't talk much, and finally, just stopped coming at all. She called him a few times, he'd say he'd come, but didn't, so she gave up. Never gave it another thought."

"And the other call told you about the singles' bowling league?"

"Yeah, that one wasn't so forthcoming. I gathered the lady I spoke to is married now, and her husband was listening, so she didn't want to talk about her activities as a single. Apparently, she was the secretary for the league, and the only reason she would have last called him would have been to sign him up for a summer team over a year ago. Hers was the very last incoming call on the bills. She sort of remembers that he said he couldn't sign up, but doesn't remember much else. Again, after that, she didn't give him much thought."

Wolfe leaned back against the table, crossing his arms and hooking one leg over the other while he summarized. "From what I gather, these singles groups are pretty volatile in that people come and go all the time. There's a core group, but the rest, well, if they come to events, fine and if not, no one thinks to call and find out why. Everyone else just assumes the person found a hookup, changed jobs, moved, whatever. Mel apparently attended the functions, but never took part in organizing anything, neither woman was aware of any close friends, and I found no names of contacts outside of these groups on the phone lists. Therefore, when our mummy was out of sight, he was out of mind."

"So, his last known act was a bank transaction, thirteen months ago, taking cash from an ATM, his last call was incoming from the bowling league fourteen months ago. Over the three-month period previous to that he disposed of personal and household items and talked with a hot line about being depressed."

"An incoming call, before the bowling league, was from a number that's been changed three times since then and the phone company currently has nothing listed under that name. It was a woman's name, so either she's married now, or moved out of town, who knows. The same for most of the other numbers, all changed in the last year. If they were girlfriends there seems to be no way to contact them now."

"On the ATM, do you have proof it was him? Not someone with his card?"

Wolfe's infectious smile brightened. "I have proof, on surveillance; the bank uses digital and saves recordings for five years, now. Besides, we found his card in his wallet beside the bed, and there was no other activity after that one transaction. So, about thirteen months ago he closed his door and never opened it again. TOD was probably ten months ago, considering the air conditioner kept the temperature of the bedroom at an average of fifty-five degrees for five months." He paused and then said sadly, "I'm just seeing one conclusion, H."

Horatio looked up, his ever-present concern for life plainly printed on his face. "Suicide?"

"I'm thinking he lost his job and after three months was getting depressed, which coincides with the start of the erratic attendance chatty-Cathy referred to. All of the rest of the behavior fits in, so, yeah, suicide, by starvation, and, once he closed the door for the last time, it took him about three months to do it. All the classic signs are there: he cut off contact with the few acquaintances he had, had no family we know of, and he gave away his possessions. Alexx thinks he was probably losing weight before and then just quit eating altogether. He lay on the bed, drank water, and starved. Hell of way to go, but I don't see anything that indicates anything else right now. Now, why he turned on the A-C, I can't figure, but it must have been part of the package for him. Once someone decides to commit suicide, I guess anything is possible."

Both men were silent for a moment, lost in their own dark thoughts.

"But dammit, Horatio!" Ryan exploded. "How could he have been dead for months and nobody knew? Nobody missed him! Nobody went looking for him, reported him missing! It's not as if he lied and said he was moving out of town, deliberately disappeared! He just closed his door and died, and nobody paid attention! Not his neighbors, not the manager! Utilities were shut off remotely and no questions asked, the lack of payment wasn't investigated, nothing!"

Horatio watched the intense young man in front of him going ballistic over the ways of modern American society that did not care to meet its next-door neighbor. Ryan, a social creature by nature, couldn't imagine not interacting with people, was insulted by the idea that others might not care about him enough to know whether he lived or died.

Nodding in a noncommittal fashion, Horatio said, "You know what? I think we've spent enough time on the case. Sounds like you don't have any doubts, and there seems to be no unanswered questions. I'd say job well done and wrap it up. Write up a report, please, and get it to me as soon as you can."

Pushing himself up from the table, Ryan nodded in defeat. He'd already resigned himself to the fact that the mummy wasn't all that interesting a case after all. The case was sad and unusual, and would most likely be part of water cooler repertoire for years to come, but was not engrossing, not any more.

After seeing how attractive her boss was looking, Calleigh's report to her boss was short and sweet. "I just got a call from Sergeant Topiaka, who's the contact for the stakeout crew. They think he's got a couple of customers and are about to move in and arrest our guy. I was just waiting for the next call, and as soon as Lopez makes a move that looks like he's going to the place, he'll call us."

The two shared smiles in anticipation of the action. Not only would it take them out of the lab and into the field again, but perhaps they'd be taking some offenders out of action, to say nothing of removing some weaponry from the streets. It was an endlessly repeating procedure, a job never done, but satisfying, never the less.

"I'm going over to the supply room, make sure my kit has everything."

"Do mine, too, please? I'll tell Ryan and Eric to be ready to roll and then be down talking with Alexx for a bit." He asked her as he turned to leave. "Page me."

Alexx was not at all shy about making comments to her favorite co-worker, especially when they were compliments. As he almost came breezing into the morgue, she was about to slice into a shooting victim's liver to retrieve a bullet. Stopping what she was doing, she put her scalpel on the victim's exposed entrails, and stepped away from the exam table to get a better look.

"Well, look at you!"

Horatio cocked an eyebrow at the reaction. "Excuse me?"

"Tanned, or as tanned as your pale skin is ever going to get, but looking good! And that suit! The color is nice on you! And it's more than that! There's just something about you! Honey! I haven't seen you look like this in a long time."

Horatio gave the ME a tight-lipped grin and raised his eyebrows.

Pointing a bloody gloved, playful finger at him, she laughed. "Ah, that smarmy smile of yours. That means you aren't going to say what's up. Well, okay!" She returned to her table and picked up the scalpel again. "You just be closed-mouth, I don't care. I'm only glad to see you looking so good." She continued smiling, but, unlike his, hers was a large, happy beam, all teeth, no holds barred. "Now, what can I do for you, Horatio?"

Horatio liked the warm feeling that this lady, who dealt with so much of life's finalities, just oozed out of her pores. "Who's this?"

"Some work broomed over to me from the night shift, but its okay. There was a gang shooting last night, so there's this one and a live one in the hospital. Our boy here took one through the lower intestine area and into the back of the spine and one to the liver. He bled out."

Standing back, he watched Alexx competently slice into the organ, which was devoid of its usual supply of blood because of the bleed out. Using two fingers, she felt around inside the cut she'd made, then she smiled, added her thumb, and pulled out a small object. "There you are, you tiny mite. All that damage from an ounce of metal. Hmph!" She reached over for a small metal pan and clinked the object in, then looked back to her subject's face. "Bet you weren't planning to end your life this way, were you, child?"

She stood back for a second. "You didn't come in here for this poor baby, I know that. What can I do for you? Or you just in here stylin'?"

"I was just wondering if you had finished with that child from the penthouse."

Her voice turned cold. "I did, and her report is on your desk. Horatio, you do not want me to say out loud what I found; you can read the sadness when you're ready. I hope they fry that guy until he's almost gone, revive him, and then do it several more times." Alexx jabbed at the air with the bloody scalpel as she spoke.

"He probably isn't the one to have done all of the damage." Horatio's head tipped to one side as he softly spoke.

"He's the last one to have touched her! He killed her! He can pay for everyone else's damages."

"May I see her, Alexx?"

Alexx, looking very stern, as she only sometimes did, laid her hands flat across the opening of the body before her, still holding the scalpel tucked under a thumb, fingers splayed possessively across the exposed organs. "No, Horatio, I can't let you do that."

"Why not?" A worried look raised Horatio's brow.

"Because," Alexx announced in definite tones, "that child needs to be left in peace. You said your farewells to her at the penthouse. I had to practically physically move you away! That poor little baby has had enough men in her life." Her voice softened a little at first, "Horatio, you are the best of men," only to turn sharply unequivocal, "but you said goodbye to her and now, just leave her be!"

In the room of death and silence, both knew that if Horatio was determined, he could easily return after Alexx went home. Each also knew that Horatio had a hard time letting go of the ones he'd lost, almost to the point of self indulgence, and this was Alexx's way of prying loose at least one finger. Besides, she, too, felt a sense of protection about the ones who came to her after it was all over, having said many times, "We are their last line of protection."

Horatio stood still a moment longer, considering her remarks. "I understand," Turning, without further comment, he walked out of the morgue.

Riding up the elevator Horatio's cell twittered at him. Ten minutes later, he was in the Hummer, on his way to join Calleigh and Ryan.

JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ

JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ

"What have we got, Calleigh?" He asked, speaking before the car door slammed closed.

"Three gang members arrested, and this." 'This', was a large boat storage locker, which stood ten feet high, fifteen feet wide and twenty feet long, located in a boat storage lot that contained forty such cubicles of varying sizes, and also large, tarp covered boats on trailers parked in the open. The shed didn't look any different from the others until the doors were opened; instead of a boat inside, there were three rows of gun racks, two against the walls and one double sided rack down the center, holding perhaps fifteen rifles of varying calibers, fifty different pistols, and two Russian-made missile launchers. A rack against one wall was shorter, making room for a five-shelf case that held at least a hundred boxes of different sized ammunition.

"Well, what have we here?" He stepped around Wolfe, who was snapping pictures, and into the interior, taking it all in.

"Some new exemplars for our gun room, for one thing." Calleigh was down on one knee reading a tag attached to a pistol.

"And more than sixty weapons removed from the streets."

"There are some empty spaces, too. I think there are some guns still out there."

"Can you tell what sort?"

"Just guessing, I'd say two rifles, small caliber, and three pistols, two are large caliber, and one small enough to be a Saturday Night Special." The only reply Calleigh heard was a 'hmm'. She was thinking the same thing, that no vacancies in the line up of guns would have been preferred, but that they had to take what they could get. "At least forty of these are of the caliber we're looking for. You want to bet one of these was used to shoot the canal car vic?"

Hands on his hips, surveying the haul, Horatio smiled. "No, I'm pretty sure I'd lose."

Calleigh had squatted to look at some pistols on a rack close to the floor. "Aww and I thought I had me a fish on the line."

"Not this time." Horatio turned to the figure at the door casting a large shadow. "Frank, how did it go?"

His thumb going to the corner of his mouth, as though to wipe at some imaginary bit, Frank Tripp looked disgusted, as was customary for him. "Stakeout took them down without a whimper. The main guy, the one they'd been watching, Santiago Lopez, drove here, and met the other two losers at the gate. He drove in, leading the two in their car, parked in front, here, and by the time he'd opened up and taken a handful of cash, they'd got all three of them. No fuss, no muss, no bother. All those guns and no time for them to get to even one."

"Made your job easy for you, huh, Frank?"

"Yeah, we just came to haul their dumb asses to the pokey."

"Be sure and book Mr. Lopez for murder and assault with a deadly weapon, won't you?"

"Oh? Yeah? Who'd he shoot?"

"The murder is Cristobal Dejenez, found shot twice in a car dumped in the canal last week. He also inadvertently shot another man in the commission of the murder as well."

"Huh! Maybe we should give all of the dumb asses out there guns and just let them kill each other off. Sure would make our jobs easier. All we'd have to do is arrest whoever's left, and at the rate they're going, that'd be about ten of 'em, total."

Horatio considered bringing up the argument, as he often had done, that following the tall, Texan's suggestion would also put a large part of the general population at risk from stray bullets, but then decided to just nod and reply, "Hmm."


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimers**: All characters from CSI: Miami are property of CBS. I own nothing connected with CBS or with CSI: Miami, I don't know anyone connected with CBS or with the show. I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

**Title**: Mutual Valor

**Pairing**: Horatio Caine/OC

**Rating**: NC 17 I know, 'M' is an accepted rating, but this is just in case you don't know, this is what 'M' means. This is not only for sexual content, but also for violence and references to sexual child abuse well.

**Spoilers**: There are references to previous episodes through fourth season.

**Challenge**: For you true experts on all CSI: Miami, the J's I use for story breaks, and the Sorority House, are references to one episode in particular. It will be up to you to figure out which episode and why I used the lines of J's.

**Comments**: Both negative and positive comments are always appreciated. I learn from the negative and enjoy the positive.

**Thank you:** Many thanks to my betas, Elena and Tonie. If not for you, this would have been a mess! I am truly grateful for your efforts.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary:** Story: Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued.

Chapter 16: As the relationship between Manuela and Horatio develops, Mannie learns a few things about herself, with some help

Chapter 16:

Having overseen the transport and storage of the weapons from the cache to the lab, Horatio didn't pull out of the parking garage until nearly seven that evening. Atypically, on a whim, he pulled his cell out and hit speed-dial.

"Manuela?" He felt almost giddy at the sound of her voice.

"Hi. Say, I'm just leaving work and well, ah, have you eaten yet?" He nodded.

"Would you be up for going out tonight? Meeting me someplace?" Gratified to hear affirmatives he thought of the perfect spot.

"La Gran Tapa."

He smiled at himself as his foot almost pressed down on the accelerator more than necessary. "You know it, then. Good. I'll meet you there in about half an hour?"

Located on the periphery of the Miami downtown area, the small eatery had once been a tavern. A large horseshoe-shaped bar sat in the center of the dining area surrounded by well-spaced tables on the white tiled floor. Large, undraped windows looked out onto the sidewalk, and bright overhead lighting added to the neighborhood restaurant atmosphere where dining was casual and friendly.

"Señor Caine!" greeted a man carrying several menus.

"Sal! How are you?"

"I haven't seen you in a long time."

"It's been a while. Have they demoted you to Maitre D', now?"

The restaurant owner smiled. "I just happened to be walking by the door and saw you come in. Let's see, I believe your favorite table is available; let me get you seated. You expecting guests?"

"One." Horatio followed the shorter, silver haired gentleman as he limped to a corner of the room. He waited while Salvador Morales, owner of this and several other restaurants in the greater Miami area, one time Grand Prix race driver and all around playboy, pulled the table out slightly.

"Beside you or across?"

He almost said beside him, but reconsidered, answering instead, "Across, thanks Sal."

Salvador deftly pulled two bent wood chairs away, one from either side of the table, and placed them casually against the wall nearby. Pulling one chair to the center of the table, he stepped aside, gesturing a gracious invitation to be seated to his guest. Solicitously he asked, "Have you been coming in behind my back? I haven't seen you."

"No, I haven't been here in," he replied, pausing as he smiled apologetically, "well, in too long." Seating himself against the wall and glancing out the window, watching while his host arranged the other chair and then the table settings, he ordered a whiskey, 'neat,' knowing his host would pull out a private reserve just for him.

Taking the order with a knowing smile, Sal exclaimed, "You're here now and I'm happy to see you. How are you?" They exchanged pleasantries a moment and then Sal went off to bring him 'something special.'

Hands in his lap, his legs crossed, Horatio sat back to enjoy the subdued noise of a popular restaurant and waited for Manuela, giving him a chance to consider the possibilities with her and just what it was that attracted him. Other than looks, intelligence, a sense of humor, and propinquity he couldn't think of a thing. True, working with her had a tendency to get him a little raw around the edges, but the battles were over territory involving which department was providing protection and the lines were still being drawn, but he figured he was giving as good as he got and, for the most part, it all just seemed to add to the relationship.

He accepted his drink from a waitress garbed in a very long white apron, typical of servers in Europe; apparently, Sal had other business to attend to. He took a sip of the dark liquid and found it was indeed some of the best whiskey to be had in Miami. It sang on his tongue, changing to full orchestration in his mouth and climaxed into the back of his throat where it seemed to magically disappear, leaving happy memories. You didn't drink this stuff, you didn't have to.

He went back to musing, what was the cause of the kiss last night? Well, more than 'a' kiss. A smile crept onto his face. 'Hmm, maybe she's experimenting? Testing the waters? Seeing if she can stand it after what she's been through?' Perhaps, but, to him, the rest of the signals seemed a tad more than that.

He cautioned himself, '_Careful, pal_.' How did she put it last week, '_Just let it be what it is,_' or something to that effect?

His thoughts were broken off at the sight of a familiar car driving slowly past. He stood as she was brought to the table by the real Maitre D', and grinned hugely as he greeted her.

As soon as Manuela was seated, Sal came bustling up to meet Horatio's new friend. He apparently approved, because no sooner were pleasantries exchanged than he took the menus from their hands, gave a leering wink to Manuela and, assuring Horatio that he had something in mind, and left as quickly as his limp would allow.

Two hours later, their meal but half-eaten, the two were preparing to leave.

"But you didn't eat!" cried Sal, wringing his hands at the tableside.

"Sal, you brought enough for four people!"

"Dessert! I have a wonderful flan!"

Raising one hand up as if to ward off her solicitous host, Manuela put her other hand at her waist to indicate how full she was. She had already asked Horatio if the man did this to all of the people he hosted.

Sal gave up on the two Americans. He was from a world where meals were four and five hour affairs, marked from when the first course was served, not when it was ordered.

Half an hour later, armed with tinfoil packages, shaped like swans, which were full of leftovers, protesting to his pleas to stay, promising several times that they would soon return, they fled from their waving host, out onto the sidewalk.

"I think that was the best food I have ever eaten."

"When Sal gets into the kitchen, it's great. I think he once studied at Le Cordon Bleu."

"How did he get that limp?"

"You should have asked him, because he loves to tell the story; final lap of a cross country motor race in Spain, he was closing in on the finish, ahead of the pack and blew a tire. By his efforts alone he missed a crowd of over a hundred people and plowed an entire field for a local farmer."

"Lost the race?"

"I don't believe I've ever heard. I think he's told the tale at least ten times since I've known him and, each time, he gets so involved in the describing the crash, the pain of his injury, and his recovery he never seems to say."

Horatio was hanging onto the door of Manuela's car, listening to her laughter ring out over the sound of the passing cars. Glancing up, he realized he was standing out in the street, probably obstructing traffic, and chided himself a little before he said, "Uh, I'll see you at home, right?"

Starting the car, Manuela nodded in reply and as Horatio closed the door, she heard his hand bang twice on the roof as a signal to go. Assured he had already checked the traffic from behind, she drove off with a huge smile on her face; she was being courted, was being shown off to his friends, and she loved it.

Later, at home, she heard a light tap on her open patio door. Pulling the sheers aside, she saw Horatio standing with his head down, his hand to his lower lip, slowly rubbing it back and forth. "Yes?" She drawled.

"Just making sure you got home safe, ma'am."

"I did. Flock of swans now swimming in the refrigerator, all safe and sound. Thank you, sir."

"Go for a walk?"

Forty minutes later, on the way back, he leaned her against a gracefully inclining palm tree. One hand behind her waist, the other placed at the back her head to cushion it against the rough trunk of the tree, he gazed at her face. Then, he leaned forward, his first touch light, tentative, brief, tasting her lips. Next, he sampled the area around her mouth, touching the soft facial hairs with the tip of his tongue and then, slowly explored inside, letting his tongue first play against hers and then, finally, thoroughly kissing her.

The wonderful part was it seemed like, as she kissed, that's all she was doing; he had no doubts about where her mind was, certain that she was not making a grocery list or thinking about sore feet. He couldn't have said how he sensed it, whether it was through her lips, or her arms, or her body, he just knew, she was right there, kissing him, being kissed by him and nothing, but nothing, else was in her at that moment.

Finally, as he expected, when he stepped back from this most enjoyable pursuit, she pushed off from the tree, took his hand and pulled, indicating the walk was resuming. She was silent, but her smile didn't fade for quite some time. Neither did his.

An hour later, standing at the gate between the two patios, the kiss was repeated, the same as the night before, and ended, with Manuela drawing back, pulling out of Horatio's arms, smiling, and saying a quiet goodnight. He watched as she quietly closed the gate behind her and stepped around the privacy wall.

As before, he paused, absorbing the delightful feelings he had been left with He stared at nothing, seeing in his mind's eye the very close-up view of a face he had been kissing, his hand straying to his lips, feeling the moisture, the sensation of her mouth on his, still warm Completely so very pleasant. He uttered a 'heh' in amused fascination at his own preoccupation with it all and strolled into his condo.

Standing quietly at her door, behind the shears, Manuela felt gratified at the sound she heard. Still uncertain of where she wanted to go or at what rate, at least Horatio's reactions were not ones of disgust or derision or worse, of uncontrolled desire.

"Just go with your gut, Mannie."

She had not told Horatio, or anyone for that matter, that she was still talking with a therapist occasionally. This one, Doreen, who, by now, was as much a friend as her shrink, let her call at will, as she felt the need. Hardly having talked with her over the last four years, she had called after the first casual conversation with Horatio that Saturday on the patio and then several times since.

This night she said, "It sounds to me like you want him to be attracted to you, kiddo. I think you're ready, too. By sheer accident, you hit the jackpot moving into that place. He sounds like a real doll, available and safe as houses. Sure is better than that lawyer you got involved with that one time."

"No, no buts," Doreen countered Mannie's interruption. "Just go with what you feel. I am personally giving you the green light."

"No, I don't hear the old programming here at all. I know, what you did for him last week was a little, ah, shall we say, different from your everyday sort of emotional rescue trick and was maybe a little bit like your old life but, well, it sounds like it worked for him. Other than that, your reactions to the current situation, so far, seem normal, mundane even."

"Well," came the patient answer to the reason for the call, "then don't go any further than what you're comfortable with. Hey, some relationships take years before even the first kiss. Some people never get any further than kissing, and some that do take it onward, take years before they get anywhere."

Mannie heard a big sigh. "We've so-o talked about this before. You knew that if you ever got involved with a man again it would be scary. You've told him what's what and he seems to understand. What's the worst that can happen now? He'll back off and you'll be uncomfortable living next door to him for a while. Eh! Big deal. Am I right, or am I right?"

Her friend/councilor concluded the phone session with her usual, "Look, I love talking with you, I wish you well, but I got some real sick people's files to look at right now. You're fine, get some rest, I love you, b-bye."

Manuela hung up the phone and sat on her bed, her knees up to her chest, absorbing the words. Safe as houses? How was one to know? That lawyer Doreen had referred to had seemed safe, too. He'd been before Doreen, when Mannie had been with another counselor, one who'd simply guided her on occasion, had required appointments, and offered no motherly advice over the phone. She had thought, then, she was recovered, ready to take on relationships, to act normally as a young, single lawyer, as a woman.

She'd met him in the hallways of the court while they were waiting for their respective cases to be called. He'd invited her out to dinner and, naively, she had told him, on their first date, about her past, thinking that she was just being open, sharing, and not being secretive. He'd seemed so understanding, too, was so gentle that night, insisting that he wanted to prove immediately that sex could be good with a man.

If that hadn't been a sign to her, then the next date should have been a highway billboard: he'd invited another lawyer from his firm to join them, at his place, where he'd said they were just going to just chill and watch a little TV. At some point, the friend had gone into the bedroom and a few minutes later her 'boyfriend' turned to her and whispered, "He's really been stressed by this case he's got. You know, what, I think you should go in there and see if you can help him out. You seem to have a magic touch there, Mannie." The point was made so reasonably, in such a matter-of-fact style, she'd actually complied! Then there was another law partner to 'help' and a third. It had all bothered her but in her naivety she'd thought she was popular, well liked and, perhaps that was the price.

One would think that a man who worked with the law every day would not be a man to get physically violent. When she'd put her foot down, refused his next request to 'comfort' a friend of his, he'd hit her. To her credit and his mortification, she'd returned the blow, bloodying his nose, and left, and then spent the next five years with more therapy, recovering from the experience.

Fine? She wasn't so sure. She'd thought she was fine the last time. However, she had to admit, this time, with this man, so far, so good. As with any recovery, she reminded herself, one day at a time.


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimers**: All characters from CSI: Miami are property of CBS. I own nothing connected with CBS or with CSI: Miami, I don't know anyone connected with CBS or with the show. I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

**Title**: Mutual Valor

**Pairing**: Horatio Caine/OC

**Rating**: NC 17 I know, 'M' is an accepted rating, but this is just in case you don't know, this is what 'M' means. This is not only for sexual content, but also for violence and references to sexual child abuse well.

**Spoilers**: There are references to previous episodes through fourth season.

**Challenge**: For you true experts on all CSI: Miami, the J's I use for story breaks, and the Sorority House, are references to one episode in particular. It will be up to you to figure out which episode and why I used the lines of J's.

**Comments**: Both negative and positive comments are always appreciated. I learn from the negative and enjoy the positive.

**Thank you:** Many thanks to my betas, Elena and Tonie. If not for you, this would have been a mess! I am truly grateful for your efforts.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary:** Story: Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued.

Chapter 17: Calleigh and Delko both bring in new evidence for the canal case. Manuela inadvertently finds Horatio's more human side.

Chapter 17:

The next morning, in one of the interrogation rooms, Horatio watched as Calleigh put the suspect through the wringer. Franco Lopez was what was sometimes called Cheap Latino Proud, cocky, arrogant, and continually trying to unbalance the blond sitting across the table from him by calling her 'chica' and 'gringa,' two words Horatio knew she found loathsome. Not even his casual presence in the room, leaning against the grill over the window, staring at nothing in particular, hindered the young man's insolence. Little did Lopez know the redheaded detective had little patience for his impertinence and was coiled like a spring ready to jump at him if he as much as blinked wrong.

From her behavior, one would think that Calleigh was oblivious to any threat posed by the jerk seated at the table across from her. One would be wrong on that point. Not paying any heed to the presence of her boss, seemingly unaware, one might think she figured she could take care of herself and one would be correct, particularly on that point. On the other hand, one might think that, from her behavior, that she had all the cards in her favor and was just playing the hand to see how far the other would go into the hole for. One would be right, for another point.

Lopez had already heard that an enhanced image from the surveillance tape at a robbery at a mini-mart four years previously had identified him as one of the robbers through the facial recognition program. Smiling slyly, the twenty-five-year-old had denied any knowledge of such an event, giving his warmest 'Latin Lover' look. "Ah, my beautiful little gringa, do you really think I would do such a thing? If I could talk to you privately," he glanced at Horatio's still form, "I could show you how I couldn't ever do such a thing."

Calmly, absolutely deadpan, Calleigh responded, "Well, I don't think so, Mr. Lopez. You see, we have some blood evidence from that crime scene. Someone got excited and, while grabbing the money from the cash register, he cut himself, so we have a good sample of blood, which of course means we have his DNA. We also have a DNA sample from you and," she opened the folder in front of her and removed a sheet of paper from their DNA Analysis Unit, "yours is a match with our evidence." She slid the paper in his direction.

"Oh, no. No, no, no, no. You have your records mixed up." His singsong cadence reflected the influence of his extended stay in Los Angeles. "Just let me talk to you in private, chica. A few moments and you will be convinced of my innocence." He winked, leering. "Just someplace we can be alone, eh?"

"But, you know what? This morning, in that line-up you were in, you were identified as being the shooter in another homicide from just one week ago. Seems old habits just don't die."

Lopez almost squirmed in his seat before regaining his leering composure. "'Old habits don't'—so I heard. Who's accused me of this? Who, chica? Who thinks they're diming me out?"

Calleigh kept an unmoving gaze trained on the man. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that."

Horatio had to give the guy credit for guts. Without a single beat going by, he heard the honey-smooth voice say, "Ah, then it's another misunderstanding. I'm sure I could explain everything. Just like the guns! They're not mine, I tell you. Those two, they were showing them to me! I know I can convince you, my pretty gringa. Just a moment, eh? You and I alone. Eh?"

Not being able to resist, Horatio, continuing his scrutiny of the floor, started, "Heh. Santiago, what are you going to explain? Your blood at the robbery from four years ago? A recording of your face, showing you discharging a weapon at that scene? An eyewitness account of your shooting and killing a man seven days ago? Your prints all over the guns, the lock, the gun racks?"

Horatio's range of vision was wider than most people's. Standing as he was, with Lopez seated directly to his right, while he was staring down at a point about five feet away, he could still clearly see the gangster looking at him skeptically, the mustachioed lip curled in a sneer. He let one side of his own mouth stretch out in a smirk and turned his back, to look out the window.

A brief silence was followed by what was music to Horatio's ears: apparently, Lopez didn't even notice that Calleigh had given a nod to the police officer standing just outside the door, because the next thing he said was, "What? No! Don't I get a chance to defend myself to you? Come on! Let go!" When Lopez had doubtless felt a rough hand on his shoulder.

"You will get more than a chance to defend yourself in a court of law," Calleigh replied lightly.

After she read the charges for the arrest and the young man was taken out, Horatio congratulated her on her work and keeping her cool.

"Well, I still haven't found the gun. I know it's there, but I'm only about a third of the way done on processing the pistols of that caliber." Her face showed that even she, the gun lover, could be over sated by processing more than forty weapons at once, not counting the rifles, missile launchers and other pistols.

"I understand they were all loaded with ammunition, ready to go."

"Which means unloading each one, processing each bullet and cartridge for fingerprints and any other trace evidence on the weapon and on the ammunition, then reloading with our ammo, firing, and then doing striation comparison. Even with Eric and Ryan working with me, well, it just takes time."

"I understand. The nice part is, though, you know you're closer to finding that particular gun with every one that isn't it."

"I hope so. I mean, we know the gun was cached for the last four years, but we don't know if it was returned this last time."

"First, we find out where it's not and if it's not in this bunch," he shrugged as he spoke, "then we'll continue looking. Even so, we still have him through an eyewitness account on one crime, the blood evidence, and the tape on another. We also have the bullets from both."

Calleigh smiled, not her brightest smile, but one showing she was willing to accept an 'as good as' in place of a 'gotcha.' She preferred winning it all, but sometimes that just didn't happen. About to leave, she caught a look on her boss's face that declared he was coming up with a hunch, so she stayed for the revelation, which was not long in coming.

Still leaning against the grill, appearing lost in thought but far from it, Horatio droned out, "You know what, Calleigh? I think I'm going to have to deprive you of a helper. I'm going to need Eric for this afternoon." He shoved himself upright and, going to the door, ushered Calleigh out of the room before him.

She wondered if anyone had complimented him on today's tailored linen suit, the color of fossilized bone, and his deep olive green silk shirt, which completely complimented his deep brown Tony Llamas. '_My_,' she thought to herself, '_this man can sure dress when he puts his mind to it._' She decided to say nothing and just enjoyed.

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At the marina, near where the gun cache had been located, Delko pulled his gear from the back of the Hummer while gazing out at the surrounding water. "Why here, not some other area?"

"Quickest, easiest route from the gate of the lot where the boat locker is, Eric. He wanted to dispose of trash, not take a hike. He returned most guns to the shed, but perhaps there was a point of use when one in the lot needed to disappear, so he took the easiest route to the handiest disposal area." Stretching an arm out, finger pointing, he gestured in an arc. "He pulled out of the gate and locked it, pulled forward to where the walkway is, parked, walked around the fencing there, passed the bathrooms there, walked straight out to the boat slip here, to the end of the dock, or maybe not even that far, tossed the gun and walked back, maybe even stopping off to take a leak, since the facility is right there, then returning to the vehicle."

Nodding, Delko stepped into the pants of the wetsuit. "Calleigh wasn't happy about me leaving her and Ryan with all of those guns yet to process. She said something about her having a big mouth. What'd she mean by that?" He inquired with a look saying he was reasonably sure he knew the answer.

"Well, I'm just trying to kill two birds, Eric. She might or might not find the particular gun she is looking for. If she doesn't, then we might. Even if we don't, we might add to the cache in general, which means Haffman and his boss will be pleased and so will I."

"Yeah, a feather in our caps for taking the initiative, eh, H?" Delko's smile turned conspiratorial.

"Something like that, Eric. He replied affably. "Or you can say we're just doing our jobs."

Thinking that sometimes his boss could be just too stuffy for words, he merely answered, "Yeah, okay." Checking the air tank one last time, Delko hiked it on his back, and settling the mask onto his face, inserting the bulky mouthpiece; he backed off the wooden walkway and fell into the water face up.

At the end of an hour, when Delko had run out of air, seven guns had been laid out on the pier. "I'll have to bring out a crew tomorrow. I didn't finish covering the entire area, here."

"Good. Please expand the search to cover these five boat slips. This one is the most likely to have been used, but he may have occasionally had to use the others if this one was occupied by witnesses. He's had at least four years to dispose of weapons."

Late that afternoon, Horatio spent a couple of hours in the lab with Delko, writing up the guns they'd found. Still, he left for home earlier than was usual, now that he had an excuse to leave rather than one to stay.

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This time, having arrived home before Manuela, he decided to allow her to find him. The heat that afternoon had been particularly oppressive, almost strangulating, and so he had decided to remain inside with the air on. He knew it would be more pleasant outside a couple of hours after sundown, but until then he relaxed. Grabbing a book of ancient Greek plays from a shelf, he stretched out on the sofa and started reading. He had always enjoyed the old plays as psychological thrillers that portrayed the most basic of human emotions. The difficult phrasing of the poetic dialog also stretched his mind, causing him to think differently in the long run, which generated new ways of looking at problems.

Half an hour later, a light tap at his patio door alerted him to company. Pulling the door open he found an almost pleasant breeze greeting him, as well as his neighbor, so, turning off the air conditioner, he stepped outside and immediately felt the humidity condense on his cool skin.

Noticing his short sleeves and well-cut shorts, Manuela decided she liked the look. "Hi. You been home long?"

The two strolled to the edge of his balcony. "A while. Cooled down since I came in."

She inquired whether Horatio would need M'Fuan's testimony on anything soon, since she would be going to see him in a couple of days. He asked about the progress of the girls in the hospital and whether any more parents had been found, and went on to speak of the mounting evidence against everyone arrested so far. Manuela fell silent when she heard that there had been no word about any other similar 'houses'.

Moving closer to her, putting a finger under her lowered chin and raising it, Horatio caught and held her gaze. "Try not to think about it. We deal with what we find. All right?"

She made a face. "I know Horatio, I know. We can't save the world, can we? She wrapped her arms around him, laying her cheek against his chest.

"Not all at once." He enfolded her in his arms and enjoyed the sweet warmth.

Where does the time go when two people find each other fascinating? One moment the eastern horizon is purple beneath a deep blue sky and the next it's black as the rest of the firmament, but neither takes much notice of this clock. There is talk, sharing, silences, and more talk. Only a yawn tells them time has passed.

This time it was Horatio who yawned. Smiling wordlessly at each other, knowing the time to part was upon them, he walked her to the open gate. They stood a moment facing each other while he placed a hand at her waist and she raised a hand to his shoulder. Before long, their lips met. Chaste, to begin with, the kiss became more impassioned after a few minutes, tongue exploring tongue, hands exploring body. At first, it was fun for both, but after a few moments, he began a purposeful probing and started pulling at her, and so Manuela drew back. "Oh, Horatio, I'd better say goodnight."

Caught in mid-stride, nearly off guard, Horatio pulled himself up straight, his hands firmly on her arms, holding her away from him, his eyes unfocused, his breath slightly uneven. He nodded a couple of times and smiled, as if running a dialogue in his head, and, in rueful agreement with what he was hearing, he looked at Manuela, licked his lips, smiled again and replied, "I understand—I do. Goodnight." Dropping his arms, he turned and walked into his condo, leaving her alone at the open gate.

Doreen's words echoed in her mind, 'so he backs off. Eh! Big deal!'


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimers**: All characters from CSI: Miami are property of CBS. I own nothing connected with CBS or with CSI: Miami, I don't know anyone connected with CBS or with the show. I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

**Title**: Mutual Valor

**Pairing**: Horatio Caine/OC

**Rating**: NC 17 I know, 'M' is an accepted rating, but this is just in case you don't know, this is what 'M' means. This is not only for sexual content, but also for violence and references to sexual child abuse well.

**Spoilers**: There are references to previous episodes through fourth season.

**Challenge**: For you true experts on all CSI: Miami, the J's I use for story breaks, and the Sorority House, are references to one episode in particular. It will be up to you to figure out which episode and why I used the lines of J's.

**Comments**: Both negative and positive comments are always appreciated. I learn from the negative and enjoy the positive.

**Thank you:** Many thanks to my betas, Elena and Tonie. If not for you, this would have been a mess! I am truly grateful for your efforts.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary:** Story: Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued.

Chapter 18: An unexpected development in the child abuse case. Horatio has to make up an excuse to talk to Manuela.

Chapter 18:

There had been times, since he had met Manuela, that Horatio wondered if she avoided meeting in the hallway out side their apartments. In four and a half months, he had never seen her at the elevator, which, for next-door neighbors on similar work hours, struck him as peculiar. Doubtless, he would never have considered the matter at all, except, this morning, just as he was entering the elevator, he could have sworn he heard her door open; he had immediately hit the 'Hold' button, and turned, expecting to greet her, but instead, heard the soft, unmistakable thump of a door closing and saw nothing but the empty hallway. Internally shrugging, adding the occurrence to a list of oddities about Manuela he was subconsciously keeping, he hit the 'Garage' button and rode the elevator down, alone. He never even considered the events of the previous night.

Meanwhile, another part of his subconscious was working at bypassing the interest people at work were showing in his appearance each day, and how phrases, such as 'the old 'H',' and 'like he used to be,' followed him wherever he went. Though some were giving him bigger smiles than previously and more expressive 'hellos,' most just waited until he passed by to give him the appreciative glances with fleeting looks at each other and approving nods. Today, they took note of the dark blue suit and the sky blue shirt, took a second look at his eyes, which seemed to pop in a compliment to the colors.

The theories, among them, as to the cause of the detectable wardrobe change abounded and mostly centered on the idea that 'H was getting some,' but from whom was still considered a mystery, pleasing everyone, since mysteries were their specialty. The current theory in the rumor mill was that, since the man never did anything but work, the 'who' had to be among them and speculation, was rife.

Immediately after the weekly Shift Progress meeting with the Chief, Horatio headed out on his usual rounds, starting with Calleigh in the ballistics room. He found her almost ecstatic, her green eyes shining, a smile parting her red lips wide enough to split her face. "I found the gun! It was the last pistol in the bunch!"

"Always the last place you look, eh?" He gave her a sly grin and waggled his eyebrows, forming his fingers around an imaginary cigar.

Hardly believing a Groucho Marx line coming out of her boss's mouth, Calleigh did a double take. She wanted to ask this dandified, knee slapping jokester who he was and what he had done with her real boss, but thought better of it; so, instead, said, "I was afraid that maybe it would be one of the guns from the water. Even considering that it could only be in the drink for a week at most, the salt water could have compromised the barrel enough to bar a match being made or even through the firing pin marks on the casings."

"Were you able to match any of the other guns with crimes, yet?"

"Just starting to run the ballistics through IBIS on the ones we've processed. I also got about twenty viable fingerprints from the bullets and the cartridges. The guns themselves had all been wiped clean, but the criminals always forget those other parts, so I'm running those through AFIS. And," she was off and running again, continuing with "on the off chance, we're checking each gun, nook and cranny, for epithelials. So far we've actually come up with a few samples, so I'm running CODIS as well." She turned slightly and nodded once over her shoulder, looking too, too pleased with herself.

The center of Horatio's lips rose as the corners lowered, and he raised his eyebrows saying, "I think you're covering all of the bases, then. Excellent work."

"Yeah, there are no fingerprints on the canal gun or on the bullets, but since it was in the cache and since Cristobal is a witness to the shooting, I think we can make the case there pretty well, anyway. Add it to the definite ID through his blood and the surveillance tape, for the killing four years ago; Lopez will definitely be doing death penalty appeals for a while." Finishing, she added as a toss off, "I'll get the rest of the guns done eventually."

"Good solve, then. Congratulations Calleigh."

"Thank you, Horatio." The pleased 'you' came out as a definite 'yee-eww' in her softly accented drawl, which also added at least four more vowel sounds to his name.

The chirrup of Horatio's cell cut through his enjoyment of her reaction. "Excuse me, Calleigh."

Twenty-five minutes later, pulling up on a quiet parkway street in a pleasant neighborhood, he greeted, "Frank, thanks for calling me."

"Well, this is pretty much your case, anyway. I mean, there's nothing here for your brainiacs to process, but its part of that mess from the warehouse."

Taking in the paramedics tending to one man on a gurney, and another who was sitting on the end of the medical vehicle, Horatio next turned to the battered looking brown Hyundai hatchback at an angle in front of a large 2006, tan Lexus sedan, in the middle of the traffic lane. A woman, about thirty years old, stood by the open window behind the driver's side of the Hyundai, her arms folded, was talking with the occupant inside; a little girl, who, seeing Horatio, excitedly pointed at him and said something to the woman.

Excusing himself to Frank, Horatio walked over to the pair and introduced himself, "Good afternoon. I'm Lieutenant Horatio Caine and I have been involved with the unfortunate case involving this little girl, here."

"He's the one, Mommy! He's the one that Ms. Mannie said would get all the people that hurt us! He'll get that man. Now Daddy doesn't have to."

"You are her mother? I'm Lieutenant Horatio Caine, ma'am. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Yeah, I'm Lisa Hartwig." She thrust out a hand. "That's my husband, Mike, over there sitting on the back of the ambulance. Is he going to be arrested? When little Lisa, here, told us that was a man who had been hurting her, I guess he sort of lost it."

"Well, I just got here, so I don't know. I'll tell you what, though, you stay here by little Lisa and I'll go find out. All righty?" He gave the mother a smile and grinned at little Lisa, then returned to Frank's side. "What happened here?"

Frank stood, one arm wrapped at his wide waist, propping the elbow of his other arm, hand to his mouth, so that he was actually speaking into his knuckles. "9-1-1 got a call about an hour ago. Apparently, that guy on the bumper, saying he had found one of the men who had hurt his kid and was going 'to get him.' When the patrol car finally got here, they found him beating the bejeezis out of that guy over on the gurney. As you can see, the other one got it pretty good." His raised hand gestured in the direction of the paunchy man who was sporting several raw marks on his face. Each of the men had a police officer standing guard nearby.

"Did you interview the attacker?"

Frank's light-baritone drawled, "Yeah, that's how I figured out it was part of your case. I guess they had just picked up their daughter from the hospital and were taking her to a shelter that's being provided for the time being by the CPS. They're down here from Macon, Georgia."

"And the other guy, the one who was attacked, is?

Frank took notes from his jacket pocket. "Uh, some CEO or other at Morney and Company, an investment firm. His name is Fremont Packard."

"Who is denying any knowledge of what could have possibly brought on such an attack. Right?"

"Oh yeah. So, what do you want to do here, Horatio?"

"Well, Frank, it is my experience that a child who has been sexually molested can identify her attacker without the least hesitation. I think this is a case of a citizen's arrest, perhaps worthy of a misdemeanor citation for a provoked attack?"

"You mean write Mr. Hartwig, over there, a ticket and send him on his way?"

"He'll be staying in town for at least a few days, as will the other parents who are claiming their daughters, so he'll be available for questioning."

"And if this is a case of mistaken identity?"

His hands rose up to his hips as Horatio commented dryly, "Then Mr. Hartwig will be arrested and spend some time in jail for assault and Mr. Packard will, no doubt, add to the family's woes by suing Mr. Hartwig for false arrest and an unprovoked attack. Meanwhile, I will see you at the station after you have brought Packard in for questioning. I want to know all about his activities with little Lisa, why she should pick on him as a molester."

Frank grunted as Horatio strolled back to the mother and child.

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An hour and a half later, Horatio greeted M'Fuan and Bob in an interview room at the lab, shaking hands with both. He noted that M'Fuan was looking much more like a fourteen-year-old child than the last time he'd seen him.

"Bob, thanks for responding to my call so quickly. I asked you to come down here because I need to ask M'Fuan some questions." Without any more preliminary, he turned. "M'Fuan, I know you've had some time to think and I'm hoping you can think up some more details about the people who shot your mother. You see, the two we arrested aren't giving up a thing and we haven't been able to track down the other two."

M'Fuan looked first over at Verron who had become his friend and mentor. "I know what they look like, but that's all." He shook his head as if being bothered by a fly. "I just never paid any attention to them when they talked to me. I knew Jess and Al from school but the other two, they were wild, didn't even go to school. They were always with Jess and Al but ..."

"Just what gang are they? What's the moniker?"

"I think they were trying to get a gang together, you know? Trying to be a gang. All I heard Al call it was the 'Trust No Bitches' gang, but I don't know. I just kept trying to stay away. I mean, Mom would have killed me if she even thought I was hanging around them. They just kept after me, though; like I'd be some sort of trophy if they could get me to join."

After some thought, Horatio asked, "Did they ever mention a hangout? Ever tell you to meet them some place or talk about going there?"

He slumped self-consciously in the chair and pooched out his lips in thought. Finally, he made a face and shook his head, "Once I think they said something about a hangout in the Old Miami section, but I don't know." He heaved a sigh and drew his shoulders up, then let them collapse.

Horatio shrugged. "Well, thanks anyway, M'Fuan. It sounds like your mother had the perfect idea telling you to keep away from those thugs. She was a good woman."

Looking at the lieutenant directly for the first time since he'd come in, the boy smiled faintly at the memory.

Moments after saying goodbye to Verron and M'Fuan, sitting at his desk, Horatio prepared to call Manuela about the incident with Lisa and about his interview with M'Fuan. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have considered talking with M'Fuan without her presence, but he'd had a call from upstairs warning him that he'd better get the case moving forward ASAP. He knew that legally, he could question M'Fuan with only Verron present, but he didn't like disregarding the tacit agreement he'd had with Manuela that she would always be called.

So, now, to bite the bullet; "Manuela?"

The sound in her voice seemed to exceed just surprise at the unexpected call but he let it pass. "I'm calling in regard to a couple of things."

After telling her about the incident with Mr. and Ms. Hartwig, he assured, "Lisa seemed fine."

Replying to Manuela's remark about the child counselor on hand at the shelter, "I have previously met Dr. Jergens at a conference on police work involving the rescue of children and I was much impressed by her."

Interrupting her hurried attempt to end the conversation, he interjected, "I had to call M'Fuan in today."

He nodded into the phone, "I know I said I wouldn't need to, but it turned out I did."

Explaining how the interview had gone he continued, "Tell you what, I'll bring the transcript of the interview home with me tonight. It'll save a courier's fee."

He congratulated himself for thinking up that one. 'Saving a courier's fee' would make sure he saw her and maybe find out about the nervousness he heard in her voice, now. More puzzling was hearing something that sounded like apprehension, when he said he would see her that night. Horatio had long ago accepted that women were much more expressive with their voices than men were, communicating far more than their words, and that men seldom picked up on those feminine codes of intonations and phrasing. He could hear hers, but didn't know what to make of it, so he looked forward to seeing Manuela that evening for more reasons than one.

Eric Delko, looking fresh from a day in the water, greeted him from the door to the office, "H, we found nine more guns out there."

"So, it was his private dumping ground, then."

"He didn't go further than one boat slip on either side of the first one we looked at, so that made it easy. Problem is, most of the guns are so degraded we're not going to get anything but serial numbers from them. It'll be a count but not much more."

"Anything you think might give us something?"

Delko flip-flopped his hand in a gesture of either-or, declaring, "Two are pretty recent, so I'm going to take a look at them under the microscope, see if there's anything."

"Don't waste your time on wild goose chases; we have too much on our plate and no time to use our resources on something we don't think will get results."

"I gotcha H. I'll be sure before I try anything. I still have the sheets from the penthouse to process, too."

Just as Eric finished his remark, a phone chirp from Horatio's pocket signaled a message from Frank, so he accompanied him out the door on the way to an interrogation room.

"So, Mr. Packard, you think this is all a huge mistake?" Horatio purred in his best form.

"I just don't understand. Did you see what he did to my car? That man is a maniac! He risks his family to come after me? And then you arrest me? This is just too ludicrous."

"Well, it was his daughter, Lisa, who said you had hurt her, you see." He glanced up at Frank, who was standing at the end of the table, his legs spread, arms folded high on his chest, a hard stare coming from his green eyes.

"A child! A child? How can a child know what's what? You can't trust the judgment of a twenty-year-old much less one, what, ten?"

"On the contrary, Mr. Packard, children who have been molested have an extremely good memory. Especially when it comes to the person who has done the molesting again and again, as she says you did." Caine was seated across from his target, his calm voice turning rough and gritty as diamond dust.

"I'm a busy man and a married one. I don't have time for this nonsense!"

"Lucy also said she went to your house with other children. We are showing all of them your picture as we speak." He leaned forward, his eyes opened wide in earnest appeal for the truth.

"And if they all agree with each other how would you know it isn't—what do you call it—reinforcement! One kid makes up a fantasy and the other kids think it's real. That's what it would be."

"We're showing the photos to each child," the words had a biting edge, "in a room, alone, with none of the other children present. Each photo of you is being shown in an array of photos of other men and each is being asked if she recognizes any of them."

"I'm going to sue that jerk that attacked me. It's all nonsense."

An officer signaled Horatio from outside of the glass walled interview room. "Excuse me a moment, Mr. Packard." After taking a piece of paper from the officer and hearing his remarks, he gave Frank a small, satisfied smile behind Packard's back. A moment later, he resumed his position at the table, sitting back casually. "Fax machines are a wonder of the modern age, you know? A moment ago, we faxed photos to where the girls are and we already have their verification of identification. By the way, do the names Viola and Monica mean anything to you, Mr. Packard?"

Packard almost looked as if he were going to burst into tears. Blowing through his nose several times, he attempted to speak and failed twice before finally achieving a sound. "It's all that bitch's fault! I just wanted someone who sort of looked young, you know? A Lolita, you know? She didn't have any in her stable so she said she could make arrangements. She got me those girls. She got me hooked on these kids. First, it was just the one, Lisa. And then she suggested two and– and..." He looked around, as if seeing hallucinations, and then appealed to Horatio as if for sympathy, "It's not my fault! It's her! Doing kids is like a drug! Addictive! You know?"

"Who got you hooked, Mr. Packard? Who are you talking about?"

"Why, Sheree. Don't you know? I mean, she's the only Madame in town! You should know her!"

Horatio looked up at Frank in question. Frank looked back dumbfounded, raised an open hand, and miming his ignorance of what was going on.

Seeing this, Packard went on, "Didn't you know about her? What? You think there are no Madams at all in Miami? Oh, come now! Besides, she said you cops knew about her and that's why she could operate, that she kept girls off the streets and that you liked that. You think she was telling me tales? Why would anyone do that?"

"Just where is this only house of prostitution in Miami, Mr. Packard?"

Not surprisingly, he had only a phone number—memorized.

Later, Packard was much astonished that he was going to be arrested just because he was addicted to sex with children, with a promise of prison time. As he was led in handcuffs down the hallway, he protested that, on his own, he'd put himself in rehab that very day, that he just needed help is all.

"And he's a CEO of an investment firm?" Frank was watching in disbelief as the man was being hauled off. "Remind me to check and see where Dade County Employee Financial Planning Services has my IRA and retirement plan. If it's through an investment firm, I'm cashing in."

"I hear you, Frank, I hear you," came the stoic reply.


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimers: All characters from CSI:Miami are property of CBS. I own nothing connected with CBS or with CSI:Miami, I don't know anyone connected with CBS or with the show. I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

Title: Mutual Valor

Pairing: Horatio Caine/OC

Rating: NC 17 I know, 'M' is an accepted rating, but this is just in case you don't know, this is what 'M' means. This is not only for sexual content, but also for violence and references to sexual child abuse well.

Spoilers: References to previous episodes through fourth season.

Challenge: For you true experts on all CSI:Miami, the J's I use for story breaks, as well as the Sorority House, are references to one episode in particular. It will be up to you to figure out which episode and why I used the lines of J's.

Comments: Both negative and positive comments are always appreciated. I learn from the negative and enjoy the positive.

Many thanks to my betas, Elena and Tonie. If not for you, this would have been a mess! I am truly grateful for your efforts.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Story: Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued.

Chapter 19: Manuela learns a great deal about Horatio and about herself.

Chapter 19:

Some days it was just plain good to be a CSI. To start with: what could have been an ugly assault incident, turned up two more good collars for the child sex ring.

Then: Wolfe had helped Delko figure out a way to time-line the sheets. Laundry, apparently, was not a priority with the animals that had abused the girls, so there had been about two weeks worth of what appeared to be almost constant activity on the linen. There was only one day's worth of stains from the penthouse, but three days' on Kern's. The best part about it all was it would all save making the girls testify too much in court. The evidence, proven by science, would convict with very little effort from the victims.

Finally: the canal case yielded huge amounts of weaponry and, thanks to Calleigh's fingerprint and DNA work, two more possible leads on outstanding cases, to say nothing of the two already incarcerated. No! Four! The two that Lopez was taking to look at the guns were at least temporarily off the streets.

'Yeah,' thought Horatio as he tossed his keys onto his kitchen counter, 'a good day.' Checking the clock, finding it was already past seven, so he speed-dialed Manuela and left a message, "I'm home. I have the transcript of the interview with M'Fuan. I'll see you when you get home."

Manuela, did not want to go home that day—did not want to see Horatio—not after what had happened the night before.

That morning, the clock radio had pulled her from a looping nightmare, replaying the events of that evening: she was kissing him, feeling so warm and nice and then, she had said goodnight, and he was suddenly holding her back, looking so - so, what? Upset? Looking like, well, as if maybe he wanted to do something, perhaps hit her? Knowing he would never do that made no difference in the dream. Then, instead of feeling relief at being unharmed when he walked off, she'd felt abandoned and so very alone and that's where the dream ended; only, it would start again, where she was kissing him. She couldn't count how many times the dream had replayed itself that night. Many times she woke up, tossed and turned, tried to find some way to get comfortable, and tried to find something else to think about, but just went back to sleep where it would start all over again. Somehow, she couldn't make herself get up, couldn't stop the cycle. Only when she had to rise for work was she able to throw back the damp sheet, climb from the sweat soaked bed, and stumble to the shower.

How could she have allowed the kissing to go that far? It had been so wonderful, and then she had gotten carried away. How stupid! She should have just said good night and left! But, no, she had to indulge her own selfish desires, had actually expected that he would know when to stop. Then, when she had felt his arms grasping her, hands reaching down her back, past her belt and pulling her to him, had felt the unmistakable lump at his groin against her stomach, she'd panicked, pulled away, simply said goodnight. How did she think he was going to react? Of course, he was furious with her. It was a wonder he'd only held her off of him, more a wonder that he'd just walked away. He'd probably never speak to her on a personal basis again; her thoughts had rambled on, but like Doreen had said, "big deal," right? A little discomfort at living next door to him for a while, right?

Then, strangely, he had called her about the incident with Lisa's parents and then the interview with M'Fuan, sounding so normal, not as if he wished he didn't have to have anything to do with her. She had been so relieved to hear his voice on the phone, she could hardly think. '_Good,_' she'd thought at the time, '_he was just going to treat me like an ordinary co-worker, back to business as usual_.' Then, he said he would bring her the transcript at home that night! '_Oh, dear! Oh, shit! No_!'

She tried to convince herself that she was being juvenile, that she was once again allowing situations to rule her life, to limit her life. '_I'm an adult! A lawyer! I deal in confrontations! Why had I let it get this far?_' she wondered. '_Because,_' a derisive voice answered, '_I keep thinking I am a normal woman, like any other forty-something woman and I'm not! I've had experiences so far beyond anything like normal, and so nothing like normal, it's ridiculous. I have no idea how to act socially or romantically around a man, and to think I could possibly have a romantic relationship with one is ludicrous. Did I remember this when I should have? No-o-o-o!_'

Moreover, she remembered, she had made the same mistake this time that she'd made with Lyle those few years ago, in telling Horatio all about her life. It had been unavoidable, but to think she could have a relationship with any man who knew what she had been, without his expecting to 'get some,' well, what was the old saying "fool me once, etc?" 'Fool' was the operative word here, wasn't it?

And there was the crux of the matter. She realized she didn't want to go home because she didn't want to be treated like the teasing little whore she had acted like, but go home and face the music she must. She would apologize for seeming to lead him on and he would...well, she would simply have to see what happened. She hoped he would accept her apology with good grace and not try to change her mind about putting out. She would return to her side of the fence, close and lock the gate and that would be that. At least, she hoped, it would be just that.

She grabbed her jacket, purse, and satchel of files on her current caseloads, turned out the lights in her office and resolutely headed home.

Horatio, deep in thought about the various pieces of evidence on the child sex ring case, had completely missed seeing the lights go on next-door, but the raspy, sliding sound of the patio door did catch his attention and he looked expectantly at the gate. He was surprised to see her still dressed in her work clothes, as well as hearing her rather formal greeting.

"Did I understand you correctly? That you would be delivering the transcript of your interview this afternoon with M'Fuan?"

He leaped to his bare feet, since formality demanded formality. "That's right." He picked up the packet from the small casual table near the chaise and handed it to her, "I had the transcriber put her seal on it."

"Thank you for taking the trouble to bring it."

"No trouble." _'What the hell is going on?_' he thought. Instead of enlightening him, this face-to-face encounter was leaving him completely baffled. "Manuela? Did something happen today? You seem, um, distracted."

"Today? No. Actually, today went rather well. We located Theresa's parents. They had all but given up hope after three years.

"I'm glad to hear that. That makes, what, about half of the girls so far?"

"Nearly. The rest, well, their memories of who they were, where they came from, is so disturbed we may never locate their parents. We can't match the remaining girls to any records of missing children, birth records, nothing. They may have been bought or stolen from parents who never registered them or perhaps they even come from foreign countries or illegal immigrants. We just don't know. I'm going to try to set up a separate group home for them. They'll do better if they stay together as a family unit."

"Sounds good." He waited a couple of beats, hoping she would say what was on her mind, explain why she was being so distant. Instead, she merely turned to leave. Then they both spoke at nearly the same time.

"Manuela—"

"Horatio, I'm sorry—"

Both stopped, waiting for the other to continue. Closing the four-foot gap, Horatio dipped his head to one side and slightly forward to be able to look into Manuela's eyes.

"You're sorry? I don't understand."

Taking a deep breath and swallowing, "I'm sorry I upset you last night, Horatio."

"How do you mean?"

Confused, she let the words tumble out, "Well, when we were kissing, and then I said goodnight, you seemed…upset. I mean, I don't blame you, really I don't, and it's understandable."

Horatio, searching for the memory of the night before, remembered calming himself, telling himself, probably in his father's voice, '_just back it up, buddy-boy, the idea was to kiss her, get kissed by her, nothing more_.' He remembered standing there holding her at arms' length so he wouldn't feel the softness of her against him, remembered saying, plainly, that he understood and then had said good night. He tried to remember saying anything that could have indicated he was upset and for the life of him could not.

"I'm sorry, Manuela. How did I seem upset?"

The look on her face was a cross between hurt and puzzlement. "Horatio! You were so obviously mad or unhappy or something. You pushed me back, and held me, and the look on your face... Well, something was sure going on in your head."

He again replayed the incident in his mind, only this time he viewed it as it might have looked through her eyes. He imagined what his face had felt like, how it might have looked to her, as he told himself to back off, to calm down, how it might have felt to be held back. To his chagrin, this reflection on how she might have viewed things was interesting, to say the least.

Looking at her with new eyes, he tried to reassure, "Manuela, I wasn't upset. I was just, well, being a man, I guess." Seeing she did not entirely understand, he reached out and touched her hand. "Maybe a better word than upset might be disappointed, or maybe frustrated."

"I am so sorry." Hoarsely whispered words from her past, nearly forgotten, found her, chilled her. "Don't disappoint me." Words whispered out of the murk, "...so frustrated, only you can help, my Little Comfort Pillow..." She stepped back and tried to turn away.

Horatio, not hearing her memories, stopped her, tugging at her hand. "Hey, not to worry, okay? Being sexually frustrated is part of what being a grown man around an attractive woman is all about. Men are goal oriented, remember? We're taught to go from point to point. We're also taught it doesn't work that way with women, but then," he shook his head apologetically, "we conveniently forget that, until you say stop." Was he getting through to her? He wasn't sure. "Last night, when you said good night I assumed you meant stop, and to do that, I had to leave. I was wrong to hold you as I did and I apologize for that."

"But..."

"You are... well, I'm finding you're a pretty hard item to let go of. I am so sorry if I seemed rude; I didn't mean to be."

"I–I just don't want you to think I'm being a tease. Maybe we shouldn't be kissing like that."

"Manuela, we're developing a personal relationship. I don't mind—I like the kissing and how far it goes, well, I'm leaving that up to you, right now." He risked moving a step closer. "I want you to know that I do want the relationship to develop, I'm hoping it will anyway, but no faster and no further than you wish."

"I just wish I knew where I want to go with this, knew how to!"

Opening his arms he invited, "Come here. Come."

She entered the area of comfort he offered and pressed her cheek to his chest. Encircling her in his arms, not really holding her, he whispered into her hair, "Wherever, whenever, all right? Slowly as you like. I do understand."

Feeling like she was in the safest place in the world, Manuela warned, "I don't know if I will ever..."

Horatio could not remember when he had ever felt so very good about someone. "Ssshhh, not to worry, friend, not to worry." Part of him, the protector, wanted to keep her from any harm, especially from what seemed to be her own self-flagellation, and was ready to stand there, holding her, forever. Part of him, the very male part of him, wanted much, much more, wanted to kiss her until she begged him to take her to bed, wanted to ravish her. He stood.

That night they did not kiss goodnight when they parted for the evening, not because he didn't dare, not because she was afraid to, but because they just didn't need to.


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimers**: All characters from CSI: Miami are property of CBS. I own nothing connected with CBS or with CSI: Miami, I don't know anyone connected with CBS or with the show. I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

**Title**: Mutual Valor

**Pairing**: Horatio Caine/OC

**Rating**: NC 17 I know, 'M' is an accepted rating, but this is just in case you don't know, this is what 'M' means. This is not only for sexual content, but also for violence and references to sexual child abuse well.

**Spoilers**: There are references to previous episodes through fourth season.

**Challenge**: For you true experts on all CSI: Miami, the J's I use for story breaks, and the Sorority House, are references to one episode in particular. It will be up to you to figure out which episode and why I used the lines of J's.

**Comments**: Both negative and positive comments are always appreciated. I learn from the negative and enjoy the positive.

**Thank you:** Many thanks to my betas, Elena and Tonie. If not for you, this would have been a mess! I am truly grateful for your efforts.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary:** Story: Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued.

Chapter20: Manuela is in trouble.

Chapter 20:

Earlier into the lab than the rest of the crew, as usual, Horatio went to the ballistics area to get a quick survey of what Calleigh had yet to get done on the gun cache. A gut feeling told him that before he would get her progress report, someone from upstairs would want a verbal update on the case. The brass were just never satisfied with the great record his team had maintained, never happy with the best solve rate of any CSI department in all of Florida, just had to keep pushing.

Thankful that even Calleigh's preliminary notes were always easy to read, Horatio estimated that, as of the end of her shift yesterday, she had processed nearly eighty percent of the guns from the shed. She still had six rifles to work on. He paused, raising his head slightly, envisioning probable time-lines of Calleigh's day, and figured she would be finished in anywhere from one to two days, depending on how many more cases came in.

He made a few notes, tucked them into his outer jacket pocket, and moved on to his office to see if anyone had left any reports the night before on current cases. He found Ryan's case report on the Mummy on the desk chair and thumbed through it. Finding it complete, he then stuffed it under a pile of the most recent cases completed. Each in it's time.

A moment later, approaching the lounge, he heard Maxine Valera's voice. "–think he's getting some? I mean, he's been looking pretty rad the last— oh, hi Horatio!" She glanced quickly at Cooper, beside her, who looked worried about something.

"Good morning. How's the coffee this morning?" Horatio's deep tones, though spoken quietly, still filled the room. He knew he was interrupting the latest gossip, but did not concern himself with what the subject might have been. Pouring himself a cup amid the thundering silence, he wanted to say, "Don't let me interrupt," but decided against it. No point in making a point. They were aware that gossip was frowned upon, especially since the unfortunate incident with the FBI's investigation into their operating procedures, and he knew that nothing, but nothing was ever going to stop it. He strolled out of the lounge, ignoring the embarrassed giggle that followed him.

Ten minutes after the hour, Horatio was on the phone making an informal report on the team's progress on several cases. "Yes, I was just handed three more case folders for sign off... I agree that the team is doing excellent work... Well, let's hope not. Any more budget cuts and we'll be riding to crime scenes on bicycles... Speaking of which, I am apparently being summoned for a call out right now, so if you will excuse me?"

Rising from his desk, he sauntered to the door Ryan held open. "Mr. Wolfe? What have we got?"

"Shooting at a park in Little Havana, Horatio. A couple of Swedish tourists found in some bushes, both shot."

"Ah, another advertisement for the Miami Travelers' Guide. Got the kits?"

"Yours is right here. Calleigh and Eric are on their way already, and Alexx will meet us there."

Riding in the silver, crest-emblazoned Hummer, Ryan couldn't help, but ask, "Did I hear you say something about more budget cuts on the phone?"

"There are always budget cuts, Mr. Wolfe. They break us down to brandishing pop guns at the bad guys and figuring out crimes with an abacus, then something like nine-eleven happens and we have the latest testing tools and are driving new, fully equipped Hummers. It's just the way of things."

Horatio drove the heavy-duty vehicle over a curb, across the sidewalk and onto a small open area of lawn of the large public park, to a stretch of yellow tape. Eric was just pulling open the back of the other CSI Hummer and arranging the electronic gear for easy access.

Quickly assessing the scene, the first thing Horatio noticed was that, except for the areas surrounded by tape and immediately around the police vehicles, it was business as usual in the rest of the park. Benches were occupied by the elderly, the playground by toddlers, and the stone chess/checker tables by the regular aficionados. Only a few gawkers were drawn to stand in groups discussing the official business going on. Police investigations were, unfortunately, not news, here.

He took in the two police officers standing by the area where he supposed the bodies were, two more officers standing to one side, arms folded, looking like they were waiting to be told what to do, and Calleigh, who was clearing a path to the murder scene, snapping photos, picking up evidence, bagging and tagging.

"Mr. Wolfe, please go help Calleigh clear the path to the bodies."

"I'm on it, H." Ryan was snapping the latex at his wrists as he left.

Horatio walked around the perimeter tape, approaching the two officers standing to one side. "Gentlemen, CSI. Who found the victims?"

One of uniforms stepped forward. "Delatores," he introduced himself, then nodded to his partner, "Cortez. We did doing the morning sweep for the drunks, checking the bushes."

"Any witnesses?"

Delatores smiled and shook his head.

The lieutenant's returning smile lifted his cheeks, which in turn pushed at the sunglasses hugging his face. "Nobody saw a thing. Heh!" He thanked the officers and retraced his path around the tape and, seeing that the path to the bodies had been cleared, followed it to where Calleigh crouched, examining the ground.

"What do you see, Calleigh?"

"The bodies were moved to this location, Horatio. See the drag marks? The bodies are in unnatural positions; they didn't just fall here. No blood pool, either. Looks like they were shot, but not here."

"Hmm. That means this is not the scene of the crime and so, now, we have to go look for it." His eyes immediately refocused to take in every bit of grass, every leaf, any speck of debris that would give him information. As he hunkered down, a few feet from Calleigh, to get a better look, he heard his phone sing a note. Not breaking his concentration, he pulled it out, but a brief glance at the details in the caller ID window, brought him to his feet with a jerk.

"Yes, Bob... What?" His voice caught. "I'll be right there."

Shouting as he ran, "Calleigh I have another crime scene! Wolfe! With me, please!"

Ryan, after making a running leap into the already moving vehicle, was treated to a ride as wild as the one he'd been in when Delko had taken him to the hospital that time, complete with sirens and lights. This time, though, paying more attention than when he'd had the nail in his eye, he found himself swallowing nervously a couple of times as, speeding through intersections without pause, the Hummer caught some unaware motorists by surprise, who just barely swerved or stopped in time.

Not wanting to distract the driver during the trip, it wasn't until they were getting out of the parked vehicle that Wolfe dared to ask what the new crime was.

"Manuela has been kidnapped," was the terse reply.

"Manuela?" He saw that Horatio was already making observations of the street and the condominium entrance.

Coming to himself a little, Horatio declared, "Hmm? Um, yeah, Ms. de la Rojas, the CPS liaison." Manuela had announced the night before that she would not be going to the hospital today, Saturday, in order to catch up on her neglected caseloads. She had joked about the need to check up on M'Fuan and Verron, to show the state authorities, through signed forms, that their money for the cost of such documents was not wasted.

Spotting Manuela's little yellow, '98 Jetta, as he had parked, Horatio quickly checked it out and found it locked and vacant. Flipping open his phone, called the department tow service, saying, "I need a tow on a vehicle to be checked out for trace. By the time you get here I'll have processed it." He knew tow response could take more than two hours.

Two bags sitting in the middle of the floor in the hallway on Verron's floor told the tale; one was a woman's purse, the other an old leather case for papers. Until he saw them, Horatio had been hoping that Verron was somehow misinterpreting events, was mistaken. Scooping them up in plastic-gloved hands, he handed one to Wolfe for examination while he looked at the other.

Ryan, who had sidled up beside his boss, stood with him directly in front of the door peephole so he would also be seen, and avoid surprising the occupant inside. Before the door was pulled open, while looking at the case in his hand, he couldn't help but hear the heavy thunking sounds of large bolts being thrown, not only from deep inside the doorframe, but also coming up from the floor.

Verron greeted the two criminalists with subdued nervousness, but it wasn't until he had thrown the lock closed again that Horatio spoke. "Bob, what happened?"

Wolfe was surprised to hear the rough, threatening tone coming from his usually soft spoken and deferential boss.

"Manuela was coming to see how we were doing."

"Yes, and she had to call you from downstairs when she arrived, just like we did. Did she sound nervous then?"

Verron thought for a second and agreed, "In retrospect, yes, she did."

"All right, that means she was waylaid before she called you. Step by step, tell me, what happened next?"

Verron turned to a laptop on the table near the front door, opening it, the screen revealed a wide view of his front door from a camera across the hallway. "I installed this when I moved in here. As you can see, it's got a fisheye lens. After I checked the peephole, I checked the monitor, like I always do, and saw that there were two guys hugging the wall on either side of the door." He turned to Horatio, a look of hopelessness on his face. "They had guns! I couldn't open the door."

Ryan had never seen Horatio so angry. The air around the man seemed almost to crackle as his stare hardened and his jaw moved forward. Without moving, his entire body showed a furious intent to enter into battle, tensely coiled, ready to launch, then, suddenly, it was over. He didn't quite relax, but his gaze lowered slightly, and his jaw receded, though working slightly from side to side and only a persistent tick in the middle of his left cheek still flickered.

"What happened?" Horatio was trying to sound reasonably calm.

"After a few minutes they grabbed her and pulled her away. Then I called you."

"Is it recorded? Do you have it on disc?"

Bob punched at the laptop keyboard. The screen flickered and then showed the back of a woman, Manuela, facing the door in the hallway. Hugging the wall on either side of the door, guns pointed at the woman, were hooded figures. One gestured at her and she leaned forward to knock. There was a long pause and another gesture, another knock, and then, after about two minutes, Manuela moved as if speaking to the hooded figure. Suddenly the other one leaped, grabbed her by the neck and shoulders, and pulled her off camera, joined by the second figure.

"Has M'Fuan looked at this? Can he identify the men?"

"He thinks they might be the other kids, but he isn't sure. I'm thinking they could even be someone else, new members. They've had time to brag about the shooting, pull in wannabe's."

Something between a grunt, a huff, and affirmation came out of Horatio as his jaw thrust out again. He turned to Wolfe. "Would you step outside and start processing the hallway, Mr. Wolfe? Pay close attention to the walls where they were leaning, please."

Ryan heard the quiet rumble in the voice, which warned him he'd better get every speck of anything left by the two men, tag it absolutely correctly, make a complete diagram of the scene and get it quickly or he'd know the meaning of wrath such as he'd never felt before. A minute later, Wolfe was almost glad to be out in the hallway, to hear the door close, the bolts fall into place, separating him from Horatio. The last time he'd seen him like this was at the warehouse when they were all facing that guy who'd been trying to escape from the house. At least then, he'd had a gun in his hand instead of a mere twelve-pound processing kit.

Setting it on the carpeting, he opened the kit and was relieved to see he had, as usual, packed three times the required amount of swabs and envelopes. Sometimes, being OCD paid.

Inside the apartment, Verron was remembering why he had been glad to resign as a Juvenile Detention Officer: Mistakes in any profession were unavoidable, but while some mistakes were just 'oops', some could be costly, and some were life altering. He remembered hearing about the officer at a juvenile detention camp who had actually asked one of the more trusted incarcerated minors to go get his car keys from his office down the hall. As the kid was bringing the keys, there was a disturbance in one of the other buildings, and, forgetting about the boy, along with the rest of the staff, the officer had left. The camp was low security, though surrounded by a fifteen-foot tall fence topped with double rows of sharply barbed, concertina wire, and was run rather casually. Though there was staff in other areas, the front office was left empty. Outside of the unlocked front office, the double-gated entrance was always locked and only the Juvenile Detention Officers had keys, usually. Unfortunately, not only were the car keys on the ring, but the officer's keys to the entry gate, as well. Forgotten, alone in the office, the kid simply let himself out and took the car. He was caught the next day and instead of getting out on parole in three days, as scheduled, was sentenced to further jail time in a much more secure camp. All because of one mistake, one error in judgment, the officer lost his job, the camp's Director was transferred to a less desirable location, and the camp became the butt of jokes in the system for months.

Bob was now trying to deal with this mistake, the enormous error of not planning for security for just outside of his apartment. Because there had been no contingency for the what-if that had happened four feet away from him, Manuela had been kidnapped, and now he had no words to say how sorry he was, to show how guilty he felt and he was suffering tremendously.

Meanwhile, Horatio, not caring how Bob felt, trying to kick-start his mind into constructive activity, said, "Play that again for me, please." He watched the replay of the kidnapping several times, as the woman he was coming to care for got roughly grabbed and dragged way, and yet, instead of seeing clues, all he could think of was Manuela's terror, imagining what could be happening to her now.

"Would it help if I burn you a copy of this?"

"Yes, it would. I need to get this to my lab as soon as possible."

"I can send the file to your e-mail."

"Tell you what, get the e-mail ready and I'll enter an address." He flipped open his phone.

"Dan? I'm e-mailing you a file, a scene of a kidnapping. I want you to enhance, enlarge it, do whatever you have to, to get an ID on the two men. The woman is Manuela de la Rojas. Call the Florida Department of Motor Vehicles and get a copy of her driver's license. That will give you her exact height to use as a standard to gauge the height of the two men." As he spoke, he followed Bob's gesture, typed in Cooper's e-mail address at the lab, his own name in the subject, and hit 'Send'. "Dan, I need to know who those men are. I should be there in about two hours."

He next considered questioning M'Fuan, in hopes of getting more information that would take him to Manuela, but realized quickly that he'd probably learn nothing new, so decided against the idea.

"Is there anything I can do, Lieutenant?" Verron's voice interrupted his thoughts.

Horatio wanted to tell him not to fuck up anymore, tell him to go out and find Manuela, repair the damage, but instead, his hands on his hips, staring passively at the troubled face, said, "No, I don't think so. I'm going to go out, help Wolfe finish processing the scene, interview people who might have seen something, so I'll still be around for a while. You have my number, right? If you can think of anything else, call me." He picked up Manuela's bags and left.

Out in the hallway, he quickly recreated, in his mind, what had occurred once the three had moved off camera. Ragged scuffmarks, plainly evident in the carpet, showed someone had been forcibly dragged to the door of the stairwell, so once he pulled prints from the door handle, the door, and the frame, he opened it and peered down the stairs. Noting that exit was one way, that the door required keyed entry from the stairs into the building proper, he decided to speak to the building manager.

Before doing that, he decided to question the neighbors and knocked at the apartment closest to Bob's door. Finding no one home, he went to the next, which was opened by an elderly men who, surprised at the unexpected knock, was civilly polite. After Horatio showed him his badge and told him what had happened outside of his door, clearly alarmed, he was more forthcoming. No, he hadn't seen anything or heard anything, no, he had not used the stairway entrance today, nor had his wife. Thanking him, Horatio went to the next door, where he again, received no response to his knock, nor did he to the last.

Leaving Wolfe to finish the hallway, Horatio left to find the building manager's office, and ten minutes later, he was assessing the street entrance to the stairs located off a wide alleyway. He found a mark on the cement drive, which he thought matched the color of the shoes he recalled seeing Manuela wearing that morning, made, perhaps, when the side of her shoe dragged along the cement. Nearby were black tracks, laid as if a car had accelerated quickly. He tried not to imagine her struggles while she was thrown roughly into the back of the vehicle, her terror.

Photographing everything, he asked to enter the stairwell where he not only took photos; he printed the door handle, the door, and the frame. Ignoring the manager's complaints about how he "didn't have the time to do this," Horatio slowly, carefully worked his way up each stair, each flight, picking up foot prints, bits of lint and, of course, fingerprints from every likely place on each banister. The work, the discipline, finally calmed him, set his mind into the necessary structure to what he knew would lead him on the quickest path to finding Manuela. Half way up he saw Wolfe working his way down the stairs, as he had instructed him to do when finished with the hall. After asking the manager to stay with Wolfe, still ignoring the objections, he left to process the area around the Jetta.

An hour later, they concluded interviewing any possible witnesses, and were on their way back to the lab.


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimers**: All characters from CSI: Miami are property of CBS. I own nothing connected with CBS or with CSI: Miami, I don't know anyone connected with CBS or with the show. I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

**Title**: Mutual Valor

**Pairing**: Horatio Caine/OC

**Rating**: NC 17 I know, 'M' is an accepted rating, but this is just in case you don't know, this is what 'M' means. This is not only for sexual content, but also for violence and references to sexual child abuse well.

**Spoilers**: There are references to previous episodes through fourth season.

**Challenge**: For you true experts on all CSI: Miami, the J's I use for story breaks, and the Sorority House, are references to one episode in particular. It will be up to you to figure out which episode and why I used the lines of J's.

**Comments**: Both negative and positive comments are always appreciated. I learn from the negative and enjoy the positive.

**Thank you:** Many thanks to my betas, Elena and Tonie. If not for you, this would have been a mess! I am truly grateful for your efforts.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary:** Story: Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued.

Chapter 21: The rescue.

Chapter 21:

Since Horatio had already called to put them on alert, when he and Ryan returned to the lab in the mid-afternoon, everyone was ready to start on the case. Though organizing, arranging, and preparing evidence for analysis, as a rule, took several hours, in this instance, working together, the team set a new record of just under two hours. By five that evening, who would be doing what had been decided, and each took up a set of evidence bags and got to it. At seven, when word flashed around that Chinese had been ordered in, everyone made as little fuss as possible making calls, canceling plans for the evening. The weekend night crew would just have to work around them.

While the team prepared the evidence, Horatio marched quickly to the A/V lab. "Give me some information, Dan."

"Right now, I got nothin'. These guys acted like they knew there was a camera on them."

"Or maybe they were just paranoid to begin with. Usually, Dan, when someone thinks there's a camera on him, he can't resist looking at it. If you will notice, please, these guys have their hoods up, but aren't looking around. They're afraid that just the act of looking at anything will bring attention their way. That is classic paranoia of extreme, prolonged drug use. Meanwhile, they are concentrated on Manuela and the door. See how they're poised? All they can concentrate on is how they're going to get inside, cap M'Fuan and Verron, and solve their witness problem, and then, probably, take care of Manuela, too. Single-line thinking because they probably don't have enough brain cells to be able to do anything else."

"So, they're counting on the hoods to hide their faces from everyone, not cameras."

"Exactly. I was hoping there might be a reflective surface someplace, but there isn't, is there?"

"I'm still going to examine every pixel, Horatio. I can enhance it more, but it will take time. There might be some point where one of the hoods slips enough to show something. If there is, I'll find it."

"Good man. I know if it's there, Mr. Cooper, you'll get it. Thank you."

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Ordinarily, Alexx only came in on Sundays when there were a slew of dead bodies to be posted, but about ten that morning, she had come in to pick up something from her locker. Planning on just passing through she hurried past a room full of what looked like dead people. (Later she was told they had all gone home for about three hours of sleep before returning.) Still, room full of dead people or no, she wasn't going to let anything concern her and was about to continue down the hall, past the door, when two words got her attention, bringing her to a halt.

"I hear my language being spoken so I just have to be nosy," she called, hanging onto the doorway, figuring that by doing so she might avoid being sucked into joining whatever was going on. "What were you saying about bacteria and mold?'

The group, lounging in chairs loosely arranged around their boss, greeted her and invited her in.

"Oh, no! Not me. I just came in to get my shoes to go for an after-church walk with my children and my husband. We get little enough time as it is and I am not going to give it up."

Horatio, looking the worse for the worry and the loss of sleep, yet still handsome in the blue lab coat, was leaning with his back against the lighted display table, one arm at his waist, his other arm propped at the elbow, his hand playing with his lip. "But you might be just the person we need, Alexx." The flatness to his usually espresso-coffee rich voice showed how tired he was.

Hearing his voice stopped her protests. "Why? What's going on? Wait, not more to that child sex ring!"

"Manuela was kidnapped late yesterday morning, Alexx." Horatio's quiet reply shouted his personal involvement.

All business, she stepped into the room. "How can I help?"

"We have several samples of trace from where the two abductors leaned and where they stood, that show heavy concentrations of a mix of both mold and some sort of bacteria. If we can figure out where this might have come from, we'll have a place to start looking."

"Mold and bacteria together, huh? Okay, let's see the bacteria."

Horatio moved to one side to reveal several transparencies spread out on the table. The exotic forms in the pictures looked more like some sort of a textile print from an advanced art student rather than enlarged views of microscopic animal life.

Alexx hardly glanced at more than two. "Huh! Too easy! Now give me a hard one."

"What is it, Alexx?"

"That bacteria is Staphylococcus aureus, nothing more than a really common staph but pesky as the devil. Stuff's learned to become resistant to almost anything we can throw at it, from antibiotics to antibacterial cleaning products. It spreads itself in a thin film on any surface, from the chairs in the waiting room to medical instruments, and sticks like glue. Takes constant cleaning just to keep it in check. Found wherever there are sick people in large numbers!"

"And where," chimed in Horatio's pleased murmur, "do we find sick people in large numbers?"

Alexx countered, "In hospitals and clinics, sugar. It's why you are more likely to get sick in a hospital than get better. Only, the one you want is abandoned."

"And you figure it's an abandoned place because of the mold, correct?"

"Three-quarters of any housecleaning in Miami is mold cleanup. If you found enough to be tracked or rubbed off on clothing as well as shoes and transferred to walls in that concentration, it came from someplace that hasn't been cleaned for at least three months. Same goes for the amount of bacteria that you found. That stuff grows fast."

"Alexx, whatever you get paid, it isn't enough. Thank you."

"You got that right, but today is free of charge. Now, I'm done and out of here." She reached out and laid a tender hand on his arm. "Horatio, I pray you don't need my services when you find her."

"So do I, Alexx, so do I," came the quietly wishful reply.

She turned to the faces that now carried a little more hope than when she'd entered. "Good luck my dears, I'll see you tomorrow." She took the thanks-yous from Eric, Ryan, Calleigh, Valera, Cooper, and Delmontes and fled.

"Dan, would you please pull me up a city map of the section of Old Miami that is currently scheduled for renovation. There should be a block of buildings that is no longer occupied and there should be a clinic or hospital listed. When you locate it, you'll then need to pull up a floor plan. I believe you can get what we need from the City Planner's Office site." As Cooper was headed out the door, he was followed by Horatio's next words. "I need it yesterday!"

Turning, he found himself facing five pairs of red-rimmed eyes. "On your way to the A/V lab, pick up some coffee for Cooper as well as for yourselves." He lifted his exhaustion-heavy arms in a shepherding manner and tried shoo them on their way.

Taking his time as he walked down the hallway to get his own cup of coffee, he dug out his cell. "Frank? We have a lead on where they might have Manuela. Bring the SWAT leader with you please, and meet me in the A/V lab."

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Though the front entry to the old Mercy Hospital remained staunchly chained, as did the ER entry, they found three other, smaller doors that vandals had breached. A final, quick conference, referring to the floor plan, had brought an agreement to evenly divide the SWAT and uniformed officers and start a search. Each team would start though a door, quietly, ready to bring deadly force if necessary. Horatio led one team, Frank, with Wolfe, another and the SWAT leader took Delko.

Accompanied by three SWAT team personnel, two uniforms and Calleigh, Horatio, carefully led the way into the dim interior. Built in the days when windows were thought to be unnecessary in a public institution, most of the illumination came from the few skylights added later, leaving many rooms dark, many corners shadowy. Progress was also impeded as eyes tried to distinguish the differences between broken, abandoned office furniture and foe. Because of broken tile debris on the floor, piles of vagrants' trash and filth, as well as the slime of mold, each step had to be carefully placed.

They moved slowly through hallways towards the center of the ground floor, where the plan was to meet up with the two other teams. Horatio, Calleigh, and the two uniforms, arms outstretched, constantly sighting down the barrels of their pistols, were leapfrogged by the SWAT team, armed with laser-sighted rifles. One group moved and held ground while the other moved past to the next position, thus, penetrating slowly into the building, as safely as possible.

They were the second to arrive at the central area, and were not surprised to see the third team enter, as wary and empty-handed as they. Silently they signaled to each other, 'first floor clear, now up the stairs,' and regrouping, divided into two teams, each heading off for the stairwells on either side of the building.

Hearing boyish giggles before he mounted the last stair to the second floor, Horatio peered cautiously around the mold spotted wall. Quickly, pulling back, he signaled to the eleven people on the lower stairs that there were four individuals, about twenty feet away, all lying down on the floor, and indicated the positions in relation to each other. When motioned a question about weapons, he shook his head, but then poked a finger at his belt showing the possibility they might be carrying.

With that in mind, on his nod, the twelve burst out of the stairway, shouting, running as quickly as they could, and surrounded the surprised quartet.

One of the young men, squatting on the floor, was so busy struggling to take a large gun out of a small pocket, he didn't notice, until too late, Horatio's gun leveled at his head between his eyebrows, while a gruff grumble told him to remove his hand from the gun and leave it in his pocket.

"Nah, man! You can't do this! I ain't gonna take this shit!" His loosely curled hair bobbed about his dark face as he kept struggling with the gun.

No sleep for about thirty hours, worry about Manuela, unsatisfied anger with Verron, adrenalin of the moment, all combined to inspire Horatio to his next move; he backhanded the youth on the side of his head, sending him sprawling onto his face. "I said, leave the gun alone!" Placing his knee on the youth's back, aiming his gun at the back of the head, he expertly removed the weapon from the jacket, and tossed it away.

Meanwhile, the second team, with Frank Tripp, Delko, and Wolfe, having heard the noise, had raced up the stairs and now joined them.

Quickly assessing the four young men who were now lined up, squatting on the floor with hands cuffed behind them, Horatio squatted down in front of one who looked slightly more clean-cut than the others did. "Where is Manuela? And don't you dare ask 'who.' Tell me where she is now!"

The four were obviously in a thick drug haze. The tiles were littered with crack pipes and tiny bits of smoked out marijuana joints. One, looking about with unfocused eyes, even asked what these people were doing in his house; another grumbled that his dad was going to kill him if he ever found out. The one Horatio had chosen to be a spokesman, bowed his head towards the floor, and giggled.

Horatio sighed and quickly pulled his pistol from its holster again. Following the kid's line of sight, he lowered it to in between the youth's legs and held the muzzle an inch from his crotch. "My finger is on the trigger. Where is Manuela?"

He heard Calleigh's quick intake of breath and knew the men on guard were flicking their eyes away.

The young man groaned in sudden penitence. "Oh, man! This is so fucked up!"

"I'll give you to the count of two. One!"

"Some closet!" His voice had a petulant tone, but he nodded towards a hallway. "Down that one I think." Obviously, he felt imposed upon.

Horatio leaned forward and whispered into the kid's ear, "If I don't come back with her I'm going to stick my gun up your ass! Now, do you have anything else to add?"

Head still down, the curls bounced as it shook briefly.

Horatio stood and nodded at one of the uniforms. "Watch him." He motioned at the SWAT team to accompany him.

The room the boys had been lolling in had once been a large waiting lobby with several south-facing windows, high, near the ceiling, so it was relatively bright. Opposite the windows was a reception area, and behind that, two darkly cavernous hallways receded. The light from the waiting room threw some illumination into them, but only for about ten feet before dimming to featureless shadow.

Flashing his light into the darkened corridor, Horatio realized the halls were paths to exam rooms where patients, who had already sat for hours, had to sit some more, anticipating their over-scheduled doctor. Most of the doors to the exam rooms were gone, a few hung askew, half off their hinges, but a few were closed. Stepping carefully to avoid a few piles of what smelled like human waste, Horatio proceeded with all due caution, peering into each room. He reached the first closed door and, taking a deep breath, threw it open; looking through the hinged side to the wall behind the door first, then sighting down his gun, he quickly entered. A white metal table dimly reflected the pale light, and Horatio swallowed dryly at the sight of the stirrups, which were pulled out at the table's end, as if ready for business, but the room was otherwise empty.

Four more rooms, all empty, boltholes in the littered flooring showing where tables once been. Another closed door. Open it! Check behind the door! Check inside! Only a broken chair in the musty dimness. Out, down the hall, into the gloom. Two more rooms with open doors. Then a closed door, at the furthest extent of the where the light from the waiting room reached, with a sign, hanging cockeyed, reading 'Janitor's Closet.' The kid had said 'closet!' Without hesitation, Horatio threw the door open.

"Oh, God! Manuela!" Finding her alive was a great relief; finding her naked, bruised, bound at the wrists and ankles with pieces of electrical wiring, hogtied so she could not remove the bit of clothing stuffed into her mouth as a gag, her own underwear, was horrific. She lay on her side, her face pale, one eye large with fear and unaccustomed to the light, the other closed by puffy, purpling skin.

"Calleigh! Need some help here! Bring your jacket, please!" Shielding her body from the men behind him, Horatio struggled frantically to get out of his jacket. "Call downstairs, tell the paramedics to get up here now! Tell them to bring a blanket!"

Calleigh knew before she came to Horatio's side what to expect and had her dark CSI jacket out in front of her. Moving under his arms and hands, as he quickly worked at the bonds, she ducked in to cover what his jacket had not.

As soon as he pulled the cloth from her mouth, Manuela started whispering his name over and over, giving voice to a mantra, "Horatio. Horatio. Horatio."

Freeing her arms and legs, disregarding all safety precautions against moving a person who may have suffered injury, Horatio scooped Manuela into his arms and held her close to him. He felt her arms go up to his shoulders, but as if unable to hold on, they wandered up to the back of his neck, and then lowered to his arms, and back again, searching for a purchase they could not seem to find. Realizing she was still repeating his name, he laid her back, quickly readjusting the jackets, and looked into her face. She didn't quite return his gaze, her good eye kept darting from his cheeks to his mouth to his eyes to his hair, seeking something not yet found, as her arms still did.

"I'm here, Manuela, I'm here," he reassured her.

"She's in shock, Horatio." Calleigh, squeezed into the corner of the small space beside Manuela's legs, put her hand out to her boss's shoulder; not at all sure he wasn't in shock, also. All she could do was watch, unable to stop him, to help him as he kept making hushing noises and whispering small words of encouragement over the repetition of his name, as he desperately tried to address the woman's tormented pain.

Only years of training prevented Horatio from struggling against the rough, rude grasp of hands at his shoulders, as the Paramedic moved him out of the way so they could reach Manuela. He had to stop himself from protesting when he saw Calleigh being pulled out of the closet corner, causing her to stumble as she was pushed out of the way, knowing Paramedics had little sympathy for those who were well meaning, but uninjured and in the way of their ministrations.

With no heed to Calleigh or Horatio, one of the young men stepped over Manuela and, bracing his back against the back wall of the closet squatted opposite his co-worker. In mutual concert, they began their work, calmly moving her still waving arms out of their way, paying no more heed to them than flies at a picnic, while they took her vitals and checked her for major injuries.

He listened as they shouted, "Ma'am, are you injured? Do you hurt anywhere?" and heard his name in mumbled reply. He so very much wanted to respond to the calling, to hold her again and make her better, but watched in silence as they touched and prodded, moving part of a jacket away and pulling it back, moving another part, as they explored her from head to toe.

Finally, nodding to one another, the one at the door stood and turned to pull the gurney they had brought to the middle of the hallway, laying it out on the floor. Covering her with a blanket, with well-rehearsed form, the two men hoisted Manuela onto the stretcher, tucked the blanket around her, and then strapped her down.

Arms now trapped, she started tossing her head from side to side, constantly, and weakly mouthing, "Horatio."

Finally, one, efficiently holding her head still, the other strapped an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose, but as soon as her head was released, it was moving again. The muffled sound of his name tore at his heart.

As the EMT's moved to pick up the stretcher, Horatio spoke to Calleigh. "I'm going with her."

"Of course, Horatio. We have everything under control, here." Having witnessed the bond between the two she would have insisted on it anyway.

"There's a table in the first room with a door. I thought I saw something on it. Be sure and get a swab."

Blue-green eyes turning steel hard, she glanced down the hallway. "I'll also be sure the boys are examined for trace by a doctor. I doubt they have any water here to clean up with, so if they've done anything, it'll still be with them." Her drawl was hardly noticeable when she was angry.

"Thank you, Calleigh." He moved to follow the stretcher.

"Oh, and Horatio?"

He paused, turning. "Yeah?"

"Keep us posted? About her condition, I mean. We want to know."

Smiling slightly and, nodding, he turned to catch up with the quickly moving Paramedics, to walk beside Manuela. Laying his fingers against her blanketed shoulder he quietly reassured, "You are going to be fine, sweetheart. Do you hear me? You are safe now, and you are going to be all right."

Tripp, Wolfe, and Delko, all noted the grim look on Horatio's face as he took a long and lingering glance at the four boys still sitting on the floor. They had seen it before and hoped, for the sake of the four very troubled youths, that Manuela would be okay.


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimers**: All characters from CSI: Miami are property of CBS. I own nothing connected with CBS or with CSI: Miami, I don't know anyone connected with CBS or with the show. I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

**Title**: Mutual Valor

**Pairing**: Horatio Caine/OC

**Rating**: NC 17 I know, 'M' is an accepted rating, but this is just in case you don't know, this is what 'M' means. This is not only for sexual content, but also for violence and references to sexual child abuse well.

**Spoilers**: There are references to previous episodes through fourth season.

**Challenge**: For you true experts on all CSI: Miami, the J's I use for story breaks, and the Sorority House, are references to one episode in particular. It will be up to you to figure out which episode and why I used the lines of J's.

**Comments**: Both negative and positive comments are always appreciated. I learn from the negative and enjoy the positive.

**Thank you:** Many thanks to my betas, Elena and Tonie. If not for you, this would have been a mess! I am truly grateful for your efforts.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary:** Story: Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued.

Chapter 22: Manuela's recovery.

Chapter 22:

Horatio stirred on the cot when he heard the morning shift nurse enter the room. He was grateful that latest hospital policy took in account that patients sometimes needed loved ones to spend the night in the same room with them. Hardly more than rolling bunks, the accommodations were not luxurious by any means, but were easier to rest on than chairs. Though the conveniences were supposed to be for patients' relatives, the hospital had made an exception for the well-known lieutenant.

Swinging his long legs to the floor, he watched as the nurse checked on the still sleeping Manuela.

"Good morning," she greeted quietly.

"How is she?"

The older woman looked at the chart. "Probably just asleep, but after what she's been through, it's hard to know. She's stable, that's all I can say right now. The doctor will check on her when he arrives."

Horatio was familiar with the drill, 'the patient is stable, doctor will be in later.' He nodded and heaved himself to his feet.

"There's a coffee machine down the hall," the nurse added as she left.

Half an hour later, slightly refreshed, coffee gone, he was sitting by the bedside, gazing at the still face, looking for any sign of waking. The doctor the night before had said the sedative they'd administered would wear off by morning, but considering the shock she'd suffered, that she still might sleep on for hours more or even days.

"From the evidence, I would say she was raped repeatedly, besides being beaten. There are no permanent injuries, this time, and she'll recover physically, but… Well…" The doctor paused and gave Horatio a critical look. "Do you by any chance know her past medical history?"

Horatio turned his head away, unsure of what to say. "Not really," he evaded. "Why?"

The doctor, looking careworn from vast experience with such patients, answered, "The vaginal exam revealed some very old, very severe injuries. I was just wondering."

"I haven't known her for very long." Shaking his head, Horatio looked away to ward off any further inquiries.

Half an hour later, another nurse came in, checking on the finger monitor, looking into Manuela's face, making notes on the chart. She recognized Caine from his many official visits and inquired if he was there on business, again. Being told it was personal, she brightened. "Oh, you know what? You might want to hold her hand, talk to her. Here," she came to his side and raising the blanket, lifted Manuela's arm out and placed it so he could easily reach it. "Touch is so important."

"I have been talking to her," he said responded. "Telling her it's okay to wake up."

"Good. Hold her hand, stroke her arm, even her cheek. All right? Sometimes, words just aren't enough for these victims." Accepting his smile as thanks the woman sailed busily out of the room.

Horatio rose, and seating himself on the bed beside Manuela, picked up her hand, lacing her limp fingers loosely between his, touching palm to palm. He reached over and gently drew the back of his forefinger down her cheek, avoiding the purple bruises, gently speaking her name, explaining, saying that the nurse had instructed him to touch her, and hoped she didn't mind. He brought her hand to his lips and lightly kissed, looking for any glimmer of reaction.

About ten minutes later, as she moved her head, he was afraid she was trying to turn away from his lightly stroking finger, so withdrew his hand as her eyes fluttered, but she turned as if seeking the source of the touch. Tentatively, he stretched out his finger again and, much to his gratification, she nuzzled against it, her lips curling into a small smile while her hand weakly returned his grasp.

"Hi. Welcome back."

Her eyes flickered open, first looking up to his face, hungrily drinking in the sight, before she glanced about the room. Seeing where she was, the growing smile suddenly died, her face becoming sad while her sight wandered from memory to memory.

"It's okay, now. You're safe."

Her eyebrows arched high on her forehead, her good eye wide, the other trying to open, she looked up into his face, the unspoken question, plain, 'Am I really safe?' echoing silently about the room. She closed her eyes for a second as if trying to close out the images, but opened them immediately to gaze at Horatio. Finding some reassurance there, she looked quickly about and then back to him several times as if she were afraid it might disappear without constant supervision. Finally, she seemed to give up on the idea of weaning herself from looking at him, she settled for allowing an occasional blink while keeping watch, still holding on to his hand.

"I was very worried about you."

A small smile crept across her face.

"I'm so very glad I was able to find you." As his heavy, whetstone smooth voice laved around her, closing her eyes a bit, she nodded just ever so slightly, breathing the slightest bit of a sigh. "I'm not sure of what I would do if I lost you now."

A dry tongue flicked at her lips, and he was up instantly, moving around the bed, pouring water, moving the straw to her lips. A moment later he returned to the other side of the bed, water glass at hand, seated as he was before.

"You were about to say?" He encouraged.

"Horatio," was all she seemed to be able to articulate, but never had his name sounded so sweet.

He stroked his finger down her cheek again, continued at the line of her jaw to her chin, back to the bottom of her ear and up her cheek again. In doing so, he found himself beginning to lean forward, not being able to resist the temptation. Her smile widened as he came close, but the two were interrupted by the doctor's entrance. Grinning at each other as if caught stealing a pie, they both turned to the intruder and she smiled while he spoke.

"She woke up about ten minutes ago."

"And how are you feeling?" The doctor addressed her patient, unconcerned with having interrupted a personal moment between the two.

Looking first at Horatio, she lifted her hand that still had the finger monitor attached and croaked, "Not great."

"I imagine not. The fact that you are awake, though, is a good sign." She paused. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to examine you again."

Seeing the frightened look on Manuela's face, Horatio asked hostilely, "Is that necessary?"

"In this case, I'm afraid so." Her face brightened. "But, if she passes, as I'm sure she will, you'll probably be able to take her home this afternoon."

Horatio looked at Manuela in askance while she looked back in resignation and said raspily, "I think she means you have to leave the room."

He saw she was not okay with the prospect, but was not going to fight with procedure, so he nodded. He couldn't help but stare at the doctor in challenge as he left, but the woman completely ignored him. As a police officer who had witnessed many rape cases play out in hospitals, he knew that doctors were used to concerned men disputing their right to examine 'their' women. In his case, he had been questioning her legal right, wishing she had none, but knowing she did. Apparently, as far as the doctor was concerned, she had a job to do and obviously didn't care what he thought.

He occupied his time in the hallway by making calls. To Calleigh, he first explained that Manuela was awake and lucid, and she said that the team sent their best. Thanking her, he went on, "Have you gotten anything out of those kids yet?"

"They all came up with traces of vaginal fluid on their genitals. I'm betting DNA samples from her rape kit will match up with each of them and vice versa. They're all busy pointing at each other right now. They didn't do it, it wasn't any of their ideas, nobody wanted to do it, blah, blah, blah. Did you know that two of the kids, the seventeen-year-olds, are from rather well-to-do families?"

"And I bet the parents have lawyered up, right?"

"Oh, of course. Their dear, darling children couldn't possibly be involved with drugs and most certainly not kidnap or rape."

"I'm betting the first two, the ones with lawyers, are the new members. And the other two, what about them? M'Fuan described them as wild, not attending school."

"Well one is actually twenty-seven, a sort of bad-boy that had been shipped out of town from Louisiana. Rather than put up with his drug dealing, whenever he wasn't in prison, they handed him a ticket to Miami."

"None of them looked older than nineteen, so we have someone who's been stunted in his growth both mentally and physically. Likes to hang around with the young kids. And the fourth?"

"Eighteen, but no parents, a street kid, been on his own since he was sixteen. We already called in a public defender. He just wanted to belong, to feel like part of something, and fell in with the older guy. They recruited the two rich kids, probably just to get some money buy dope."

"I don't suppose they mentioned the other two kids who are in jail for murdering M'Fuan's mother?"

"Who? Why they never even heard about it!" The derision in her voice reflected her opinion of what they'd said. "I'm going to run their guns through ballistics this afternoon. I don't think the new members knew anything about the murder, but they were definitely part of the rape."

"Well, keep the pressure on them, Calleigh. The evidence might bring a confession. Which two were the ones in Verron's hallway? Did Cooper get any sort of ID, now that we have them?"

"The only feature that can be clearly seen is the nose on one of them. The hoodies hide the rest too well. He's working on a way of comparing our boys' profiles with the nose, but he says because of the angle of the camera it's going to take some time." She paused, knowing he knew what she had to ask about next. "Is Manuela going to be able to testify?"

"I haven't had a chance to question her, yet."

"Should I come? Would it be easier if she could talk to me, do you think?"

Horatio felt a wave of thankfulness for the woman who had become like a sister to him. His voice warmed, "Thank you, Calleigh. You know what, I just haven't had the chance to get into this with her, and I'd like to try. It looks like I'll be able to take her home this afternoon and I'll have more time to ask questions. If it turns out she won't talk to me, then I can bring her in tomorrow. How does that sound to you?"

"Like a plan," came the perky reply. "So you won't be in today?"

"Well, I'll be working on the case from this angle."

Calleigh had to smile at her boss's tendency to play his cards close to the vest, even with her. Since she was on the other end of the phone, she could grin as she liked and not get asked what she was so smiley about. Though she had suspected the reason for his change in dress and attitude, the verification had come with his concern for Manuela the day before; it was much more than professional caring. If he didn't want to say anything yet, far be it from her to say it for him, but it was nice to know. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

He made his next call to Delko, knowing he was working on the Jetta.

"Yeah, got several prints, H. Hers, of course, but two other sets, too. Soon as I finish I'll run them through AFIS. One set are a couple of hands, palms and everything. Looks like someone stood on the sidewalk side of the parked car and laid his hands on the top, probably trying to look all casual while keeping a lookout. It doesn't look like there's anything else, but I'll give it all a quick going over, just in case."

Thanking him for the good work Horatio finished the call just as the doctor stepped into the hall. She approached him purposefully, a serious look on her face, "First, let me tell you she's going to be fine. She's bruised," she looked at him pointedly, "and I'm not talking about her face and body, you know, but she'll heal. You're a police officer, right?"

"I'm a criminalist, yes."

"From her, I gather you two have something of a personal relationship?"

"We know each other, yes." Horatio drew himself up, felt his hands rise to his hips.

"Then you know having sex with her, right now, is a no-no, right?"

He looked at the doctor to see if she thought she was being humorous, but her straight-faced stare made it plain she wasn't. One hand straying to his mouth, he hoped it looked like he was taking her words seriously, but actually it was to check that he didn't have a huge smile on his face. It wasn't often someone leaped to such conclusions with him. "I'm aware of that doctor. I've worked on many rape cases."

Happy she'd made her point, nodding once, she continued more encouragingly, "When the tests we ran on her come back, she'll probably be able to go home this afternoon. A nurse will bring release papers." Saying not another word, glancing at her watch, she turned and walked hurriedly down the hall.

Inside the room, the window curtains had been opened, the bed had been raised a little, and Manuela's head was propped by a pillow. Looking pale under the dark bruises, she smiled at his approach. Unsure of what to say, he stood awkwardly at the side of her bed.

"Before the doctor came in, it was so nice. Can we do it some more?" She had never seen him smile so widely before, discovering a new, most attractive face to this very changeable man.

Seating himself at her side, lacing his fingers into hers, he reached up to stroke her cheek. "The doctor said you were good to go home this afternoon."

She nodded and turned towards his softly caressing finger. "Yeah."

"You really feel up to it?"

Instead of answering, she used her free hand to tug at his shirtsleeve drawing him down to her. "I will be."

Half an hour later, taking a deep breath, Horatio broached the subject of talking about what had happened to her and watched her immediately shut down. Her knees came up, her arms crossed across her mid section, and she averted her eyes.

"Would it be easier if Calleigh asked you about it?"

The twitch of her shoulders told him 'easier' would be simply not talking about it. Having seen the same reaction dozens of times before, he sat patently waiting for her to process the idea, to mull over his suggestion, knowing it took longer for people still in trauma. Meanwhile, he considered the possibility that he would have to remove himself from the case. He could not be her friend and get information that she most likely believed would harm their friendship, but he would not give up being close to her, not now. Always before, he had been able to stay removed from the victims, maintaining an open objectivity, but now, he knew he couldn't. The conflict of interest made his throat feel hollow.

He desperately wanted to put the foully twisted creatures that had hurt her, nearly driven her to the breaking point, in jail, no, under the jail, but the way to accomplish this would be to get her statement identifying them, saying what they had done to her. Though there was mounting evidence against the four, with no confessions, there was nothing absolutely damning. Without her identification, on evidence alone, the defense attorneys could possibly go after Manuela's past as proof that she had not only had consensual sex, but also had purposely lured the minors to revitalize her own past life. It was possible, in fact, that she could be accused of statutory rape of the two seventeen-year olds. Even if it failed, her life and her career would suffer seriously. He would not let that happen.

Apparently, while Horatio was weighing the possibilities, Manuela had been thinking as well. Suddenly, surprising the solicitous red head by turning and looking him straight in the eye, she said, "All right. I have to do it, I know. However, I won't tell you about what happened here or now, Horatio, but I promise I will make a proper statement at the station as soon as we can get there, this afternoon if possible. I'm going to have to repeat this god-awfulness enough times as it is, so there's no point in just chattering away about it now, and you'll need to record it anyway."

"It can wait until tomorrow," he cautioned.

"You need my statement as soon as possible so you can look for corroborating evidence. I'm no prosecutor, but I know that much."

"Do you feel up to it?"

She sighed. "I think so, physically at least. It's not as if I have to run over there on my own steam. If I can walk out of here, I can... wait! Horatio! Clothing! I don't have anything even to wear out of here!"

Horatio was so stunned by her complete transformation of attitude he almost burst out laughing. She was considering talking in detail, giving a complete statement about the horror she had just been through and she was worried about what to wear?

The look of incredulous amazement on his face stopped Manuela's thoughts, making her realize how her declaration must have sounded to Horatio. She was not behaving like an ordinary rape victim, indeed, was being absolutely contrary to what she knew was typical behavior, and decided she'd better offer a word of explanation. After all, he didn't really know her very well, and probably had no idea of what was going on with her.

"Horatio," she said earnestly, "I know I'm not making sense to you right now." Putting her hand in his again, lacing their fingers as before, she pulled it onto her raised knee and, with her other hand, covered both. She couldn't help, but smile a little, watching his usually cloaked face open up in puzzled wonder. "It's just that, well, I'm coming from a place unlike almost any other rape victim you have ever encountered. You have to remember, I'm really, really good at recovering from this sort of thing; I've had years of practice. Yes, I was a little crazy, a little bit, on the other side of the rim for a while. No, I'm not that far away from the rim, even yet, but I am doing better."

As understanding dawned on his face, she continued, "I'm not sure I remember yet exactly what those boys did to me, but I know I will as I talk about it. What I do remember now is that I knew, with all my heart, that Bob would call you, and that you'd be looking for me. I knew you would find me, and I kept the idea of you finding me in my head, and that's how I got through what they did to me." She watched him swallow, watched his face change from wonder to a slightly embarrassed smile.

"I'm sounding all brave, right now, I know, but it's only because you came to get me, as I knew you would, and because you're here now. Promise you'll stay with me today? Can you do that?" She had been toying with his hand perched on her knee, now she pulled it to her cheek.

Horatio briefly looked down before looking up and tilting his head, a shy smile playing at his lips, crinkling his eyes, replied, "I'll stay with you all day, I promise."


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimers**: All characters from CSI: Miami are property of CBS. I own nothing connected with CBS or with CSI: Miami, I don't know anyone connected with CBS or with the show. I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

**Title**: Mutual Valor

**Pairing**: Horatio Caine/OC

**Rating**: NC 17 I know, 'M' is an accepted rating, but this is just in case you don't know, this is what 'M' means. This is not only for sexual content, but also for violence and references to sexual child abuse well.

**Spoilers**: There are references to previous episodes through fourth season.

**Challenge**: For you true experts on all CSI: Miami, the J's I use for story breaks, and the Sorority House, are references to one episode in particular. It will be up to you to figure out which episode and why I used the lines of J's.

**Comments**: Both negative and positive comments are always appreciated. I learn from the negative and enjoy the positive.

**Thank you:** Many thanks to my betas, Elena and Tonie. If not for you, this would have been a mess! I am truly grateful for your efforts.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary:** Story: Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued.

Chapter 23: Manuela proves stronger than anyone could have guessed. Horatio and Manuela make more discoveries about each other

Chapter 23:

Having been witness to Manuela's condition in that closet the day before, Calleigh was surprised to hear Horatio would be bringing her into the lab for a formal statement late that afternoon and would have laid odds she'd either never make it in or freeze up before she got started. Rape victims had to be given time to get through the trauma before they could talk about it. Some never did, could never bring themselves to speak of it, preferring to let the rapist go rather than revisit the memories of the event. Most took weeks and some, a very few, took only days, but hours? That could never happen. However, happen it did.

Rather than request that someone go and get something from her home to wear, Manuela asked that Horatio simply go purchase a simple throw-on robe from the hospital's gift shop. When he returned with the dress, she groaned at the outrageous price and, to her amusement, he asked how it was worse than a price anywhere else. Both laughed at her appearance when she came out from the bathroom; the color was garish, serving only to highlight the bruises on her face, and was a size too large for her. "It's better than walking out in a blanket," she had finally concluded.

When Manuela was released from the hospital, having no other transportation, they took a cab to their place, both quickly showered and changed, and it was a quick ride in Horatio's TR4 to the lab. From the garage, Horatio provided his arm for support as Manuela limped stiffly from the car to the elevator, to the interrogation room.

Seeing Manuela aided by Horatio, Calleigh's bet with herself that the woman simply would not be able to talk about her experience remained unaltered. Nevertheless, she went through the motions of preparations anyway. Greeting her with a, "Hey, Mannie," and solicitously showing her to a seat, she called the transcriber, set up the recorder, then sat down and, prepared for the failure. To her entire amazement, nearly two hours later, Manuela finished her statement.

Of course, first, never assuming she was incorrect, she was always on the lookout for clues that would tell her what was wrong with the picture she was getting; the first indicator was that she'd noticed, during the interview, how often Manuela paused and looked to Horatio. Not that she seemed to be expecting anything from him, such as words of encouragement or unspoken permission to continue, as many rape victims did, only, she seemed to derive something that Calleigh could not divine, from just looking at him, which didn't make sense. Next, she couldn't help but notice how clear Mannie–no, she could not think of her as her new friend and co-worker–how clear the 'victim's' memories were and how willing she was to make herself understood. True, as a lawyer, she knew how to handle depositions, what was expected of her, but Calleigh took note of the lack of stumbling over sensitive words and only slight hesitation when describing the worst of the rape. She'd even purposely asked a couple of questions that would have made most rape victims stop cold, but though quietly, Manuela had answered them candidly. All of these put up large red flags so, at the conclusion of the statement, while Manuela bowed her head in exhaustion and relief, Calleigh made a head gesture to Horatio indicating she wanted to talk to him in the hallway.

After, first, expressing her strong feeling of concern, she, as usual, launched into the explanations without further preamble. "What rape victim have you ever known could talk about the rape so openly within hours afterwards? I'm sorry, Horatio, but this is sounding very hinky to me. It all sounded good, she was absolutely clear, but so soon? This much testimony? I know she said it was in the interest of helping us gather evidence and that's all very well, but to be emotionally so ready, so soon after..." She shook her head. "I don't know about this. I know you want to believe her, so maybe you didn't notice." Sensing she was on awkward ground, she wrapped her arms to her chest, looking around for some comfortable place to place her gaze, and failed.

Horatio first glanced at Manuela, who was in turn, staring out at the two of them. They briefly exchanged smiles as Horatio's hands rose to his hips and he returned his gaze to Calleigh, answering quietly. "I understand what you're saying, Calleigh, and I need you to know there's some information she is not giving you. It has nothing to do with what happened to her and everything to do with how she's able to give a complete statement so soon. I hope that you'll never have to know what that information is, but it explains a great deal. I'm as surprised as you are at Manuela's energy, but I know it's genuine, and I'm asking you to take my word for it. Can you accept that as it stands?"

Calleigh blinked as she took in the information and considered what her boss was saying. '_Shucks!_ _I was wrong!_' She thought before answering, "Okay, if you're good with the testimony then I am, too." Backing a pace, she added, "And, you know what? It's late and I'm going to clean up here and go home for tonight. Tomorrow, I'll copy the tape of the testimony, send the original and the transcript over to the DA's office, review our copy, and get going on it. Is that okay with you?"

"Sounds good to me. What about the check on the guns?"

"Ballistics showed that one of the guns they had on them was used to shoot M'Fuan's mother so it'll just be a matter of time before we link it to one of the kids. What with Manuela's statement now, and the trace evidence from the rape, I think those kids will be going away for a long time." She turned to leave.

"That's good news. And Calleigh?"

She turned back. "Yes?"

"Thanks for your concern and for your candor. Means you're keeping an eye out for all concerned. I appreciate that.

Calleigh's beaming smile seemed to flash brightly from the surrounding glass-walls, "Just doing my job. See you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, then," he softly assured her retreating figure.

Actually, the hardest part of Manuela's journey that day, after two hours of making her statement, was rising to go on to the lineup. Feeling older than old, joints unwilling to co-operate, she first felt welded to the chair. Finally, after the first few steps, walking seemed easier, but the wear and tear of the effort of reliving the event, after an already long day, all conspired to defeat her. If not for Horatio's strong arm and then chairs along the way, where she could rest, she didn't think she would make it.

Towards the end, she realized how much she appreciated his help and how this, in itself, felt odd. For so very long, she'd taken great pride in being self-reliant, in having to feel like she was indestructible, just to survive every day. She had usually resented help before, feeling like it was perhaps weakening her abilities, but, now, it was strangely delightful.

Horatio, on the other hand, was coping with how very strong Manuela seemed. He had always looking to take care of others, supposing he found a sense of well being in doing so, and was never disappointed by human weakness or by the failure of others to be able to handle the harder vicissitudes of life. Admiring people who eventually did come to grips with adversity, he was patiently supportive of their efforts, but unsurprised when they succumbed. He would be the first to say that Manuela's recovery from her early life was certainly laudable, but now, after what just happened to her, an emotional setback would be expected. Instead, however, she was not only dealing with it, she was giving her statements and going through a lineup, basically, nailing the little bastards to the wall. He really didn't see himself as helping her very much, either; he was physically available, as she had asked, but he saw her as mostly doing this act all on her own and was very much in awe, and unsure of how to contend with it. What was he if he could not be useful, could not shield, or support, or could not take care of others? Being attracted so strongly to a woman who could do without him was a new experience for Horatio.

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At her home, that night, Horatio apologized for the huevos rancheros as dinner, confessing it was all he could round up between the two refrigerators, but being so exhausted, Manuela was more than grateful for the light, simple meal.

They had dined, sitting on her simple bench couch, feet up on a pair of inflated plastic hassocks, and when he returned to her side, after cleaning up the plates, she was already nearly asleep. As she roused, he leaned in and whispered, "Hey, nighty-night."

"I think so." She nodded, hardly able to draw her head up.

Rising, he pulled her up, drawing her into his arms, where they stood for a moment; her face snuggled against his chest, his cheek laid against her hair.

"May I ask a favor?" She mumbled drowsily.

"Turn out the lights?"

"No, silly. Stay with me until I fall asleep?"

Having hoped it would come to this, he helped her to her bedroom, as he continued to do for several nights thereafter.

The first two nights, he left as soon as she was asleep, but on the third, just as he started to lightly disengage himself, she tightened her hold on his arms and whispered, "Stay, please."

"I'm sorry, I thought you were asleep."

"Almost, but I meant, I want you to stay all night. I set the alarm."

The night sounds of Miami accompanied the soft night air coming through the open window, while he lay quietly, wrapped around her. Horatio listened to the distant wail of a siren echoing through the canyons of condos and hotels nearby, and considered Manuela's words.

Finally, whispering into her hair, "You know what, I don't think that would be a good idea. Not that I wouldn't like to."

The world continued whirling on its way and the ocean waves continued their endless approach-retreat-dance on the beach during the silence that ensued until Horatio wondered if she had fallen asleep. A hundred heartbeats thumped in his chest before her arm slowly lifted to the clock radio on the nearby table, her finger clicked the button to turn off the alarm, and she snuggled back against his body.

This time, he let a soft, raspy snore tell him she was asleep before he left her alone.

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Each day, when he returned from work, he found her physically stronger and emotionally clearer. By Friday evening, she was showing some impatience at Audrey's insistence that she not return to work until the following Monday, at least.

"I should have pulled a 'you' and just gone in today."

"A 'me '?" Horatio tried to sound shocked.

"I've got things to do, a bunch of kids needing legal representation! Horatio, I'm so bored I even cleaned house today."

"So, with all this boredom, did you think to make me my dinner, woman?" He put his arms around her, looking down his nose.

A raucous, "Hah!" burst out of her.

He tried to look disappointed. "You're hopeless, you know that?"

"Absolutely!"

After dining on Cuban takeout again, they decided to go for a walk. A rare north wind had brought dryer, cooler air, pushing the humidity to a rumbling distance. While dark, lightning-flashed clouds filled the skies to the south, a balmy, star filled evening rested over the city. Charged with energy at first, Mannie kept up a constant chatter concerning the interesting things she had discovered during the weekdays at their condo, flitting back and forth in front of Horatio, hummingbird style, as they walked. Within half an hour, though, momentum flagged, and she slowed, finally calling for a rest stop, dragging the man by the hand onto the sand, pulling him down with her to sit.

After a few minutes, her silent, speculative gaze into his face caused some discomfort for Horatio; long experience with women, more than he would ever admit, had taught him that when a woman sat him down and then was quiet, it augured an announcement of change in the relationship. Since, on rare occasions, the change was good, and since he had never been able to predict the outcome, he waited, as openly as he could, if somewhat internally impatient.

"You know what?"

"What?" Here it came.

"I'd like to go back to where we were about a week ago."

"Excuse me?"

"You know, friends who, if we can spend an evening together, that's great and then we kiss goodnight and we part—that."

'_Not a change, so much as a return to the past? Hm, yeah, well…' _His eyes searched the ground, right and left, for reasons why not, and found some. Looking over at Manuela, her head on her drawn up knees, her arms wrapped tight around her legs, he answered, "May I ask why?"

"Because, the other night, I think I almost started something and for all the wrong reasons. Fortunately, you're smart enough to know that. I think going back a step would be good."

He saw her arms tighten around her legs, and Horatio guessed, correctly, that this was not an easy subject for her. "And so you want to go back to a place where I wasn't in your bed every night?"

She reached a hand towards him. "Please know I loved having you comfort me to sleep every night."

"But?"

"That request I made the other night was a knee jerk reaction, partly in gratitude, which is not a good reason to sleep with someone, and partly because I felt like I owed it to you, which is a really bad reason to sleep with someone."

"I think I understood that. Now, would you like to know why I refused?"

She gave a slight nod, wanting to know, yet not really wanting to hear. "Okay."

"I refused the offer to spend the night with you because I assumed you thought it would be easier for me not to get up, not because I thought you were offering yourself sexually to me." He hesitated before continuing. "I appreciated that, but, well," he looked down at the sand beside him, "I wasn't sure I am man enough to avoid the temptation to try to make love to you if I were with you all night."

"May I ask why?" She asked evenly.

Hearing no irony in the echo of his own words, he replied as honestly as he knew how, choosing his words carefully, "When I heard you were kidnapped, I suddenly realized how important you had become to me. The thought of you coming to harm hit me hard," his expression darkened briefly, before he looked hopefully at Manuela. "I believe I mentioned last week that I hoped our relationship would develop, but at your behest. The problem is, if I were in bed with you, half-asleep, I'm not sure I wouldn't forget myself and I don't want us to start that way. I—Manuela, I hope you will come to care for me enough to…" he couldn't bring himself to say it, so instead he went on, "We both know you are not physically ready and I suspect you're not emotionally ready, either."

A new world opened to Manuela with these words; The idea that this man's first thought had been that, by inviting him to stay the night, she was trying just to be nice to him, rather than offering him sex, was astounding. Then, that he cared so much for her that he didn't want to have sex with her until she was ready was a concept utterly out of her previous, admittedly limited, experience. She was quiet for several minutes while she examined the face of this man who constantly surprised her. Eventually her eyes filled with tears, but whether from emotion or because the ocean breeze stung at her eyes, she wasn't prepared to say. She wiped her cheeks and smiled. "Wow! Thank you for that. I think I understand." Then, wanting to lighten up a little, she couldn't help but ask, "So, was that a yes or a no? Can we go back to the way we were?"

The answer took a maddeningly long time to come out. "I think we can try."

She nodded slightly, accepting that they were never going to be the way they had been.

Trying to retrieve the note on which the evening had started, she teased in a warning voice, "You know, we also gotta stop this I save you, you save me, I save you, back and forth! We're getting into a rut here! I mean, I can't thank you enough for that last go-round, but, do you realize that 'thank you' and 'de nada' is becoming almost our entire conversation base?"

Playing along, his chin sank to his chest, as he smiled, "Hm, I'm not so sure that's going to happen. We both seem to lead risky lives."

She glanced at him, looked at the stars and back to him again, nodding as if seriously considering his words, and frowned. "Mm-hmm, I think I see what you mean. Hmm." She put a hand to her chin, stroking in imaginary beard. "So, sounds like, to stop the cycle, we'd have to change jobs, maybe, or part ways."

His eyebrows shot up again. "I don't see either one as an option, not right now, anyway."

She nodded. "Ah, you're right. We're both too good at what we do, and parting ways would mean one of us selling our place, and the way the market is going right now, that's not a good idea."

"Maybe our lives will calm down." He let a smile play at his mouth.

"Yeah, could happen," she agreed.

"Not that I minded the way you do rescues." He aimed his eyes at the starry horizon. "Especially that first one."

Manuela had finally come to know Horatio well enough to know when he was pulling her chain. Okay, she could play that game too. "Well, I'm thinking you could improve your technique a little. That last one? That could have been a little sooner. The wait was sort of rough, you know?"

His grimace, as his head jerked to her direction, was not pleasant, and she wondered if perhaps she'd gone too far. She only hoped that, under the faint glow of lights from the sidewalk, he could see the cute smile on her still bruised face and know she'd been kidding.

Feeling bested at the game he reached out to touch the healing face, felt her nod into his fingers, and said quietly, "I'll work on that part and that's a promise."

That night, they shared a kiss, standing at the gate between the two patios, before she said good night and he bade her to rest well. Then, they parted, leaving the gate open.


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimers**: All characters from CSI: Miami are property of CBS. I own nothing connected with CBS or with CSI: Miami, I don't know anyone connected with CBS or with the show. I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

**Title**: Mutual Valor

**Pairing**: Horatio Caine/OC

**Rating**: See warning below in chapter summary. NC 17 I know, 'M' is an accepted rating, but this is just in case you don't know, this is what 'M' means. This is not only for sexual content, but also for violence and references to sexual child abuse well.

**Spoilers**: There are references to previous episodes through fourth season.

**Challenge**: For you true experts on all CSI: Miami, the J's I use for story breaks, and the Sorority House, are references to one episode in particular. It will be up to you to figure out which episode and why I used the lines of J's.

**Comments**: Both negative and positive comments are always appreciated. I learn from the negative and enjoy the positive.

**Thank you:** Many thanks to my betas, Elena and Tonie. If not for you, this would have been a mess! I am truly grateful for your efforts.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary:** Story: Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued.

Chapter 24: Warning: graphic sexual material. Manuela feels healed and ready to begin the next step in her relationship with Horatio, for which, Horatio is more than ready.

Chapter 24:

Six months after the rape, Manuela's transformation occurred, quite suddenly, on a wonderfully lazy Sunday morning: she'd had an erotic dream and even remembered parts of it, having awakened slowly, instead of being snatched from sleep by the clock radio. Like most dreams, it was crazy, digressing from scene to scene, each section not really having anything to do with another, yet all vaguely connected. Those first parts drifted away from her almost immediately, but the ending remained vividly fresh; she was lying in a cornfield, the green and leafy, silk plumed stalks standing high above. A farmer, complete with a plaid shirt, overalls, and a broad brimmed straw hat, was between her legs, on top of her, having wonderful sex with her, yet, instead of fulfilling her desires, only heightening them. She could feel him inside of her, but couldn't quite feel the touch of his manliness in the right parts, no matter how she strained to raise her hips to him. Nor could she make out who he was, his face hidden in shadow because the sun was behind his head, but she could just see that his red hair, straying from under the hat, glowed gold when caught in the light.

Awake now and aroused to the point of unpleasant throbbing, she knew, as surely as she knew her own name, that just a few moments more sleep would bring that ultimate pleasure and relief, but unable to go back to sleep, she was left to consider various ways to achieving that end. Finally, she did the next best thing, and pulled her vibrator from the nightstand drawer and slipped the buzzing rod in between her legs, lay back, and pictured the cornfield, the green stalks, imagined the warm earth beneath her, and that wonderful farmer doing remarkable things to her. Deliciously, the tingling feeling began to grow and intensify, spreading from that glowing point of hungry light between her legs until it ignited as an all-consuming flame, thrilling her body. Just as she began to peak, she suddenly realized who the farmer was, which sent her sexual climax skyrocketing beyond anything she'd ever experienced in her life. The farmer was Horatio Caine!

Minutes later, her body still reverberating from the slowly ebbing pulsations, she thought about what had occurred to her. She'd probably known, for some time now, that she had some feelings for Horatio, but hadn't known what they were, and not knowing, had been afraid to deal with them—after all—ignorance does breed fear. Now, it was as though a cover had been lifted from her consciousness, revealing those feelings; a cover, laid there by her inner self, which had acted like a band-aid while she dealt with the events of six months before, so she could work solely on the emotional lacerations she suffered. Having healed not only physically and emotionally, but also spiritually, she was now ready to acknowledge and face these feelings. She realized they were all about love for Horatio and that the dream was just letting her know she was ready. She'd already recognized that he had strong feelings for her, perhaps even loved her, and before, she appreciated the idea, but simply couldn't deal with it. Now she was very ready. She knew she loved him, now, and she wanted to tell him, to show him, and more, wanted so much, to feel his love emotionally and physically.

Amazingly, Manuela could feel herself getting horny again, feel her clitoris start to throb anew, feel her vagina swell and weep a moist covering of welcome. Years of not wanting sex at all, then having those tingly sensations only occasionally, not even having any desire in the last six months, and here she was firing up her vibrator twice within half an hour! _'This was serious! Of all the Sundays, why did he have to work this one?_'

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That afternoon, while waiting for Horatio to come home, the ending of the story, "A Christmas Carol," came to her mind. Years of nothingness, of being dull and dead inside, and now, she was so incredibly alive; she hardly knew what to do. She was so giddy and full of joy, she felt like dancing on the roof, like waving and shouting her news to passersby below.

At the same time, the old glamour queen, Mae West, invaded her soul, coaxing her to strut her stuff, bounce herself at each step, to completely enjoy her sexuality. Mae even dared her to call Horatio on the phone and to tell him to 'come up and see her, sometime,' to ask, when he did come home, if 'he had a gun in his pocket or if he was just happy to see her.' It was all so incredibly much!

'_Where was he'_, she wondered? '_Oh, it was only four in the afternoon. But didn't he come home earlier on Sundays?'_ She'd never paid attention to his hours, before!

Earlier in the day, she'd gone to the store and bought deli salads and cold cuts to have for dinner, imagining how they might want to eat in bed, perhaps late.

Of course, she'd also imagined being gently refused, being told he liked the status quo just fine, thank you so much, kissing her on the forehead, and saying good night. '_Humph! Well! If he dared do that, he could damn well get his own dinner! The louse! Rat! Ah, no, her dear Horatio_.'

Finally, there were the sounds she'd longed, for hours, to hear, the deep rasp of his patio door opening, the soft click of his heels on the cement.

She'd changed outfits three times in the last two hours, moved from place to place on the patio, trying to imagine the best background, posed this way and that, fantasizing what Horatio would find most pleasing. In the end, she'd chosen a simple, white, wraparound, sleeveless dress and white, open toed, high heels to enhance the shape of her legs and hips. Waiting for him to appear around the corner, she leaned against the guardrail, her elbows up on the top bar, which, she knew, emphasized her breasts. It was wintertime in Miami, and the darkening sky was a clear, dark blue, the remaining light, she hoped, making the white of her dress gleam in contrast. She was right.

Horatio had developed the habit, when he came home from work on weekends, of first going to his patio, finding Manuela, to say hello, just to be with her. Usually, he found her dressed in her boyish baggies, poring over briefs, preparing petitions to the court, or delving into her private library of law volumes, so when he stepped through the gateway and saw her poised at the railing, bright against the skyline, he stopped in amazement.

"Manuela, have I forgotten a special occasion? You look lovely."

Advancing toward him, pleased with her effect on him, she said, "No, dear, you haven't forgotten a thing, but I do believe I have reason to declare this a very special occasion." She raised her arms, wrapped them around his neck, and pulled his head to hers, giving him a very passionate, very long, kiss, and at the same time, making, what she hoped, were unmistakably insinuating moves against his body.

Horatio had no doubts as to what she was doing. Over the years, many women had made similar overtures in exactly the same manner. But how in hell he was going to ask her why, without it sounding like refusal, he wasn't at all sure. As it turned out, he didn't have to.

Standing down from her tiptoes, Mannie looked up into his wondering blue eyes and said, "Horatio, don't you dare ask why. You want me, I want you, and right now, that's all that matters. Now, come with me." She took his hand from her waist and led him inside, turned right and took him down the short hall into her bedroom.

Turning, without preliminary, she kissed him again and started trying to remove his jacket.

"Wait, Manuela, wait, I think I should go clean up first," he objected.

"Horatio, shower later, I want you, now," her voice grated, heavy with arousal.

This was too much for Horatio. He heard the words he'd wanted, for months, to hear, had fantasized about, and all sense of control left him, leaving him blind to caution, swept up on a wave of emotion. This woman, who for months, he'd desired so completely, was clinging to him, saying she wanted him, and now, nothing, but nothing, was going to prevent him taking possession of her. He gathered his love into his arms and deliriously kissed her, devoured her, clutched at her back and hips, desperately pulling her into his quickly burgeoning manhood.

Neither even knowing how it was accomplished, they were in bed together, he on top of her, around her, as she, equally, surrounded him. Like two playful otters, wrapped about each other, tumbling, twirling, nuzzling, there was no beginning or end to their bodies. In the end, somehow, in spite of the urgency of his need, Horatio was able to bring Manuela to climax before his own body exploded into the glorious fireworks he'd not experienced for a very long time.

Forty-five minutes after arriving home, he woke from a light doze to find her cuddled against him, her head on his chest, staring at him, stroking his chest hairs with the tips of her fingers. Seeing his eyes open, she pushed herself up so she could look into his face, and smiled as she said, "Horatio, I love you."

That assurance brought a beautiful golden smile, curling his lips, crinkling the corners of his eyes. Although he said, "And I love you," he knew it wasn't enough to express his feelings, but in the face of what she'd just said, he was at a loss for more words. Instead, he just drank in the sight of her, held her, touching her silky smooth, incredibly soft skin.

Manuela didn't need words to feel this man's love. His very gaze felt like a warm, early summer breeze, full of sweet promises dancing over her while his fingers felt like softly caressing butterfly's wings brushing her back, down and around, and up her hip. The assurances of his affection came profusely with his every breath and fairly vibrated out of his entire body. Of course, the love had always been there, but only now did she recognize it.

Both were trying to think of something to say, to express the awesome emotions effervescing inside of them, but neither could do much more than smile at the other.

Finally, Manuela spoke and, as usual, Horatio did not expect to hear, "I may have overstepped some bounds this afternoon; I used my key to your place and got a robe for you. It's over there on the chair in the corner. I hope you don't mind."

At the moment, Horatio wouldn't have minded if she'd borrowed his car, wrecked it, and sold it for scrap. For an answer, he pulled her up so he could kiss her, rolled her onto her back, and kissed her some more. He kissed her mouth, her chin, her cheek, grazed his lips over her eyes, felt her brows, and kissed the bare spot between. When he kissed her mouth again, her tongue came to meet his, and he felt her hands on his ass, kneading insistently.

Pulling his head back slightly, he allowed her to come to him, to pull him to her, before returning the kiss, pressing her head into the pillow. Smiling each time he raised his head, a delighted smile was returned.

An hour later, he started to make love to her in earnest. Making sure she was comfortable, he asked that she lay on her back, her head and shoulders on a double layer of pillows as he lay on his side propped up on an elbow. As if by wordless prearrangement, Horatio knew this was his time to satisfy his hunger to get to know Manuela's body, so he started by simply scanning from her head to her toes, admiring all that clothing had previously hidden. Occasionally reaching out, to touch, or caress some particularly tempting part, for the most part, he simply looked, drank in each section, each dimple, each curve and rise of flesh. Trained in observation, once he'd reached her toes, and had everything well memorized and he started a new task.

This time, she quickly discovered, his self-given assignment was to kiss her, top to bottom. He did not kiss every inch, but seemed to be on a mission rather, to find those parts of her that were most sensitive to arousal and tend to each one. After her mouth, he found the sides of her neck, just letting his lips brush here under her ear lobe, there on the pulse point, again in the dip of the connection to her shoulders. From her neck he moved slowly to the crook of her inner elbow, kissing softly, letting the tip of his tongue probe just a slight second before he moved down to kissing the inside of her wrist, to the palm of her hand, and to the tips of her fingers. Those he took gently, one by one, into his mouth and did strange and marvelous things with his tongue, sucked, and pulled and swirled, playing her sighs like a musical instrument.

Bypassing her torso and legs, he moved to her feet, kissing the tops of each one. Rising up on his knees beside her, he changed his mind about her toes, and motioned for her to roll onto her stomach and, gently touching her buttocks in reassurance, he put his lips to the backs of her knees. A soft kiss, first to one and then the other, she softly gasped and squeaked a moan as he started to lick, sending chills of delight through her. He moved from one leg to the other and back again unhurriedly, almost leisurely, watching her wriggle, listening to her breath hiss between her teeth. Then he moved on, giving a couple of kisses to her calves and down to her heels, which brought him to kissing the insteps of her feet which, she apparently found erotic enough to send her squirming into the mattress, groaning in rapture. He quietly controlled his own reactions to the superb sight of her uninhibited enjoyment.

A moment later, he indicated she was to turn onto her back again and made sure she was comfortably set on the pillows, noting with satisfaction, the high color in her cheeks. Kissing her lips, playing a brief tongue battle, he moved down the point of her chin, over her throat and to her chest. Slowly, he kissed, flicking his tongue occasionally against her skin here and there, working his way to her breast. Her breath shortened and quickened, her back arched, lifting her chest to meet his lips, her arms reached to caress his shoulders and his back, but he would not be hurried. His own hands found their way to her back and then to the sides of her ribcage, where he held her lightly while he found what he needed.

Many erudite studies, he knew, had been done about the fascination men have for women's breasts, but not a single one had mentioned his own personal delight; the feeling of, what he considered to be the most delectable part of the breast, against his lips, that bulge near her arms, the softest part, that capitulated to gravity as she reclined. For some reason, kissing that yielding, silky swell of flesh took him straight to heaven. He spent only a moment, knowing he would return again and again, in time, the desire for more exploration encouraging him to move on. He had to pay a visit to her nipples, of course, which carried their own sets of entertainment for both of them, a toy for his tongue and a direct line to her clitoris for her, but again, he moved on, continuing his odyssey to find more indulgences.

He moved down the center of her torso and to her belly button. By this time, he had straddled her, holding her legs between his knees, his full erection already prodding at her thigh as he leaned over to kiss her stomach.

Stopping from time to time, in between these explorations, to occasionally lean back and simply admire, he stroked her hips, her arms, revisited her fingers, watching, listening, memorizing the sounds, the sights. While he did this, she, in turn, reached for him, running her fingers lightly over the hairs on his forearms, his thighs, touching the smooth white skin on his hip, marveling at it all.

Finally, very tenderly, and slowly, he moved first one knee in between her legs, and then the other, spreading them wide in the process. Reaching under her legs he lifted her knees and, looking down, became fascinated by what he saw nestled at the apex of her rounded thighs. Of course, he was well acquainted with the female anatomy and hers was much like any other woman's, but at the same time, being hers, connected to her being as he was slowly getting to know her, he found that little flower of femininity as unique and mystifying as she. He sat back and, for a time, simply drank in the sight of the impassioned rose, visibly throbbing with desire.

She'd seen many looks on men's faces while being looked at down there, most recently the cool and observant looks of doctors, but she had never seen such an expression of reverence and adoration. Watching herself reflected in Horatio's expressive face was like looking at a magic mirror; never had she felt so beautiful, so awe inspiring, as now.

Never having been kissed down there, much less had a man ever use his tongue on her, as Horatio was doing now, for the first time in her life, she came to know the meaning of the words from an old song from Mama Cass, "sent me to places I've never been before." As his tongue was working that mysticism previously unknown to her, his hands began caressing from the sides of her thighs, up her hips, and then reaching under her and pulling down seeming to bring all sensation in her body to that one point where his mouth was. He kept licking and kept caressing, up, around and pulling down, bringing every sensation to a single point of her being that started as that burning point she was familiar with, but under such ministrations, intensified to ten times the sun's brilliance. Finally, not being able to inhale or hold her breath anymore, letting out a groan, she leaned forward, begging, "Horatio, please! Please! Do me. Take me. Oh, gawd! I want you in me! Take me, please!"

Hearing exactly the words he'd wanted, he rose up and, with a triumphant grunt, launched his swollen member deep into her welcoming, velvety soft crevasse.

Instinctively she wrapped her legs around his back, her heels pulling at his haunches, allowing for deeper penetration, holding on, pulling herself onto him as he repeatedly pushed.

For moments, for both of them, it seemed as if the end would never come; that each would forever hang suspended between the hell of incredible need for each other and the heaven of union. As before, Horatio knew that he had to hold himself in check, that she had to come first, always would, that he had to wait for her, that he needed to feed her craving with his body. At last, when she gasped and then stiffened under him, he knew his own time was at hand. As she began writhing in paroxysms, he knew that her brain was sending a jumbled array of signals throughout her body, that her pleasure center was being overloaded, he allowed himself to succumb to the urge to seek the same, his own 'little death' and, through this wonderful woman, to, again, touch the face of God.


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimers**: All characters from CSI: Miami are property of CBS. I own nothing connected with CBS or with CSI: Miami, I don't know anyone connected with CBS or with the show. I gain nothing from posting these stories save self satisfaction.

**Title**: Mutual Valor

**Pairing**: Horatio Caine/OC

**Rating**: See warning below in chapter summary. NC 17 I know, 'M' is an accepted rating, but this is just in case you don't know, this is what 'M' means. This is not only for sexual content, but also for violence and references to sexual child abuse well.

**Spoilers**: There are references to previous episodes through fourth season.

**Challenge**: For you true experts on all CSI: Miami, the J's I use for story breaks, and the Sorority House, are references to one episode in particular. It will be up to you to figure out which episode and why I used the lines of J's.

**Comments**: Both negative and positive comments are always appreciated. I learn from the negative and enjoy the positive.

**Thank you:** Many thanks to my betas, Elena and Tonie. If not for you, this would have been a mess! I am truly grateful for your efforts.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

**Summary:** Story: Sometimes the rescuer becomes the rescued.

Chapter 25: Warning: graphic sexual material. Manuela returns the favor, much to Horatio's delight

Chapter 25

After their second incredible round of lovemaking, Manuela brought dinner to bed. Although the salads were eaten in an almost civilized manner, the cold cuts somehow became edible body decorations, which were hung, applied, or draped as the whim occurred. One square of thin slice, with a hole eaten into the center, served as a doily for one of Mannie's breasts and Horatio discovered that beef flavored nipple was quite a treat. Ham wrapped around a flaccid penis, which was then licked and gently nibbled, seemed to act like a magic mantle of revivification. Mustard, licked from out of her belly button, after a bite of ham, did more than just tickle.

When their hunger for food was sated, after yet a third shower, Horatio lay back on the bed, while Manuela sat beside him on her knees, looking at him with a different sort of hunger rising in her eyes again. Leaning down to kiss him, she let a hand stray down his chest, to his belly and further down. Her hand stroking his, so far, unresponsive parts, she sat back with a playful look in her eyes.

Kissing her several times, he hesitantly said, "Manuela, I'm in my fifties. Twice in two hours is probably as good as it's going to get. You want more, well, I can give you more, just not that way."

Instead of looking disappointed, Manuela grinned, and giggling, she answered, "Au contraire, mon amour, do you forget what I learned to do in my childhood?"

"But..."

"Sshh," she put a finger to his lips, letting the tip sink into the divot beneath his nose, and shook her head quickly. "I," she smiled wickedly, "I know how to bring a rock to life. You," her smile gentled, "are only fifty-something and have been without sex for, well, at least as long as I've known you and, if I can't bring you back to life at least two more times tonight, then I never knew my stuff in the first place, and honey, I knew my stuff. As little as I know about being pleased is barely a smidgeon of what I know about pleasing a man, so, no apologies out of you, yet."

Happily giving in, Horatio settled his head back onto the pile of pillows. "Manuela, I'm all yours." The lamplight caught parts of his tousled hair and played with the shades of copper, even turning a few strands into gold.

Something about what he said, the way he said it, caught her attention so that she answered in all seriousness, "You are, aren't you?"

Realizing suddenly, that he'd meant everything those three words had implied, he smiled and pulled her to his coarsely haired chest, wrapping his arms around her. "I am yours, completely, wholly and to the end of time." The words rumbled out in luxuriantly husky tones that seemed to taste of Arabian style coffee, thick and rich.

Nodding her complete acceptance of his vows, she hoisted herself up and straddled his waist as she smiled; she leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "Ready for launch?"

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Before becoming a criminalist, when he was still working the Bomb Squad, Horatio had met a very unusual woman. Wealthy, beautiful, charming, she maintained a weekly social salon at her mansion, to which she invited only 'interesting people'. Meeting Horatio at a nightclub they both frequented, she immediately requested he come to one of her evenings, promising some very nice company. That night he did meet some fascinating people, but soon his entire attention was taken up by her. Apparently, he somehow proved himself to her, because before the evening was over she invited him to return, for a very special salon evening. It turned out that this meant a night alone with her, the first of many over the next five months.

He'd heard that the lady had quite a reputation for sexual escapades, and after that night, he could personally attest that she'd properly deserved every word. She specialized in delay of gratification, but with so many variations of the initial tease, each more unexpected than the last, it was like having great sex with several women each night. At that time, Horatio thought he had come across the ultimate in knowledge of sexual pleasuring. Until now.

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Manuela started out by straddling Horatio's middle, smiling but with a distant look in her eyes. Then she said, in a kind, but no-nonsense tone, "First, I want you to put your arms up, over your head and I want you to keep them there. Understand?"

Already interested, he did as he was told, replying, "Yes, ma'am."

"Don't worry," she reassured him, "it won't be for too long." Her smile became a devilish little grin. "You'll want to hold on to me sooner than you think." Pausing, she took stock of this beautiful man between her knees, noticing that the hairs in his armpits were a darker red than his chest and wondered if he were ticklish, but then decided she would explore that idea later.

First, she leaned down and, as she kissed his lips, gently and sweetly, put a hand to his cheek, caressing against the coarseness of several hours of beard growth. Shifting her mouth to a different position against his, her other hand came up to the other side of his face and her kiss became a little more urgent, a bit deeper. Turning her head again, she began moving her hips against his torso, hunching against it, obviously rubbing herself against him, as her kiss became a deep search, her hands clasped tight against the sides of his head. Her rising level of excitement stirred his, but as quickly as the kiss had become an acute need, it ended and she sat back, her lips slightly parted, a look of unsatisfied hunger on her face. She moved up higher on his chest and leaning forward, her hands on either side of his arms, she commanded, "Suck!" and shoved a breast against his lips.

He opened wide and allowed the firm nipple topping the succulent flesh to fill his mouth, washing his tongue around and around. Hearing her groan of pleasure, feeling her hips grind into him, he knew he was doing it right and took the liberty of lowering his arms so he could push her back slightly. Not letting her breast go entirely, he very lightly took the nipple into his teeth and, holding it, let his tongue brush back and forth across the flat top. The puckered skin shrank even more, hardening the nipple so much it felt as hard as a bullet on his tongue.

Not objecting to his uncommanded use of arms, she smiled at him through her growing excitement. He let the puckered bit of skin go and switched to the neglected breast, allowing it to fill his mouth, giving it the attention it needed and deserved.

To his gratification, her breathing became heavy and she started making small whining sounds until she suddenly seemed to gather herself together, and sat back. Recovering, a teasing look came into her face and lifting an eyebrow, she caught her lower lip with her teeth and grinned as she put a hand behind her and, staring straight into Horatio's eyes, did something incredible to his groin. The surprise undoubtedly registered in his face because she laid her head to one side, now smiling broadly. Then, lifting up onto her knees, she backed up a few inches and, reaching between her legs, pulled his partially erect penis up and, with a deft move of her fingers, stuffed it into her vagina, then settled down with a remote look on her face, but said nothing.

Waiting for her look of disappointment, Horatio, about to apologize for not being able to be of more benefit to her obvious need, became aware of an incredible movement around his enclosed dick. It was as if her cervix had somehow grown a tongue, and was gently licking across the head, and as if the walls of her vagina had developed hundreds of fingers, all devoted to caressing the shaft. Unaware his mouth had come open, that his eyes were round as silver dollars, he felt unexpected warmth develop in his penis, telling him blood was flowing in at an incredible rate, swelling it, filling it.

Coming out of her trance, Manuela's eyes glittered and she moaned softly, she began lifting herself slightly and settling back, lifting and settling. After kissing him, maintaining her smooth, riding motions against him all the while, she huskily whispered in his ear, "Dear heart, I think we're good to go."

In the most randy days of his late teen years, Horatio could occasionally achieve a third orgasm in a single evening, but he never remembered it ever being so sweet, so incredibly pleasant. This time there was no rushing to meet his end in a fire, but rather more like an entrance into a misty, golden haze where time stopped, but did not end. There was no everlasting out-rush from his soul, but rather a gratifying release for a brief sojourn. When time began again, he felt as whole and complete as he ever had been in his life.

Later,when Manuela told him there could be a fourth rising, she sighed at his incredulous look, "Oh, my love, if you don't want to, I guess I can live with three." She looked resigned, sitting beside him on the bed.

"Hey, hey," he protested, "it's not that I don't want to..." he wasn't sure how to continue.

She splayed her knees out so that her feet pointed behind her and seemed to be chagrined. "You know what? Maybe I'm just getting carried away. It's just felt so wonderful; I want more."

Horatio pulled at her so that she leaned onto his chest, her large, hazel-brown eyes gazing into his. "You," he duplicated her earnest attitude, "are preaching to the choir. I never thought you and I would ever come to this point and I cannot express how overjoyed I am that we have. If I even thought I could screw you all night long I'd be the one out pulling that train, driving it and collecting the tickets, I just don't think..." He stopped not wanting to see her disappointed.

Her eyes roved the room as she considered the unwelcome words before she answered, "Tell you what, let's not say we'll do it, and not say we won't. If it happens again fine, and if not, there's tomorrow or the next day or the next." She switched herself around until she was cuddled into the niche in his arms, her head lying on his shoulder.

"That, sweetheart, applies only to me. I can still do some things for you, you know." He bent his head down and kissed her. Before he realized what was happening she had risen up and was kissing him back almost as passionately as she'd done when she announced her desires in the first place.

Pausing again, she said, "It's just that there is something about having you all around me, inside and out; it's the climax, together with you, with you in me, that I can't get enough of, yet. Every time I think about it, I get all wet again. I know, it sounds unrealistic, but you understand, don't you?"

She'd asked so seriously Horatio stopped, giving her words some thought. He nodded gravely and replied, "No, I'm not sure I understand but, you know what? I don't have to. I accept that it's what you want, what you need. If I can help meet your needs, I'm ready."

His hands started roving up her arms, down over her back to her sides and hips and he again marveled at how soft her skin was, the softest he had ever felt. No man, he thought, could ever be as fortunate as so have a woman with so many delightful attributes. If, to make her happy, he had to fuck her until his dick fell off, the sacrifice would be worth it.

That night, the South did not rise again but only because sleep overtook the two.

The next day, at the lab, no one could miss the difference in Horatio's mood, sparking the rumors that had almost been laid to rest in the last few months. The question, now, was no longer whether he was 'getting some,' but from who, and speculation was rife. The only person who did not engage in what was currently 'the newest game at the office' was Calleigh and that was only because she knew the answer. She would never know why, now, just as she had never known the reason for the delay, but she knew and was very, very happy for them both.


End file.
